Email Poem

Your IP Address: 18.116.61.213

Your Email Address:

To Email Address:

Subject

Personal Note:

Poem Title:

Poem

i was good,
though i was born with mens eyes
crawling on my skin like ants, 
following me through the grocery store. 
i was good, i was 5 the first time 
i was told to close my legs, 
sitting on the couch the same 
way as my brothers, 
told not to "distract" my brothers, 
it wasn't ladylike
to be a child. 
i was good, 
i was 8 when i decided i hated skirts
and dresses, 
and legs, 
mostly mine, 
mostly the way i felt naked in them-
dresses, skirts, legs, 
and my own skin. 
i had to be modest, 
for it was a greater sin to be
a temptress than tempted-
i was 11 scratching at my skin
as if i could peel off the oil
of their ex-ray vision, 
i covered up to leave something
to the imagination, 
i covered up because they
wanted something to imagine. 
at 12 i was good
and they started calling me a young woman, 
my body grew to attract
different men, 
i had the hips of a woman
and the knobby knees of a child, 
i was 14 when the first boy confessed, 
breath shaky with nervousness
holding me, 
breathing me in like he was starving, 
like i was something to be consumed. 
surrounded by boys and men alike 
both making promises and eating me alive
with the same mouths, 
and then i was 16 
and one boy took it too far
and didn't let me say no. 
LET me say no, 
because
i was only 4 when 
the illusion of control was first shattered, 
and i knew
i only chose what to do with my body
because that day, 
a man was generous enough
to decide i could. 
i was 18 when i first chose to sexualize myself-
i finally gave them what they begged for, 
and the day they could no longer take it from me, 
when i stood in my own skin
and met their eyes they could
no longer rape me with, 
i was used up, 
i was no longer good.

CAPTCHA Preview

Type the characters you see in the picture

Required