Yesterday, I sat for most of the day
which is bad
for a softening body
but I was intent
on finishing
a
book
outside was wet and windy
anyway
not really fit
for
wandering
if you are female, and a writer
and I will call myself a writer here
as this
is how I sort out
heavy thoughts in my
head
today my thoughts are this,
if you are female, and a writer
how do you not eventually
write
about sexual assault
when statistics read like 1 in 3
and I
am
1
how do you not tell of
the fear
and
the shame
that raise the tiny hairs on
your skin
the kind of special mud
and tape
one might use
when cracks begin to show
in ancient shields
of armour
the white hot rage that builds
when a young woman is put on trial
for six weeks
exposed over and
over
and over again
gladly mutilated
by five teams of lawyers
not however, on trial
the false masculinity,
the brash immaturity and blatant
brutality of her
perpetrators
and those who think they will
help a buddy
with lies, excuses and memories conveniently
wiped-
in no way
whatsoever…
clean
stick-to-the-story-stick-to-the-story-stick
to-
THE
STORY
Boys and men are not on trial
and women
are not
believed.
who will carry the burden
of just what has been
lost
in the
shredding
of the human spirit
and yet one more, miscarriage of justice
deny your shame
by all means, stick to the story
but make no mistake
this
is yours to carry
some days
the nature in which we conduct ourselves
in how we repeatedly treat our fellow
humans
at all violent and self-serving costs
to protect and better
only ourselves
leads one to believe
we
are
a despicable lot.
And how then
does one continue to cradle
the heart
from a complete
shattering
only in a false sense of silence
and by resting oneself
in love
because
sadly, maybe… this
is all
I know ♥