Battle Cry
The irony was think in the January air as he took every ounce of my free will, ripping through my skinny jeans with “God” written in purple ink across the seams.
But rape is an atheist.
It knows no God, it knows no hope; there is no forgiveness only sacrifice of the girl I used to know
And there’s no resurrection here.
I died that day so when the people who knew me best in this world were lost for words,
Looking at me with not a drop of recall on their face,
It made sense.
I am a stranger left in the shell of a body ravaged by a boy incapable of empathy.
It seems the only memory my rattled brain can hold is the feeling of cold hands
The sound of birds chirping
Light flashing behind the trees,
People close enough to hear in the distance but too far to scream because it wouldn’t make a difference.
And 10 years later I’m terrified of space
An endless void where sound cannot be heard
And it’s too much like him
Too much like the shock I felt as my screams were apparently only in my head
My tears should’ve been enough
But if you’re raped in the forest and no one is around to witness, did it really happen?
At least that’s how the detective saw it.
I was 13 the first time I encountered cognitive dissonance as he picked up his bike, hands drenched in my blood and smiled — asking if I wanted him to walk me home
I don’t know what home looks like anymore
Maybe that’s why when I feel like crawling out of my skin I run to the nearest forest because it’s the last place I saw myself.
And I’ve been searching for her for years now.
While he still lives down the street in our home town and the judge didn’t seem to believe I would need a restraining order
So now I have to see him at the local grocery store.
After all, he’s a good kid.
A record setting swimmer with a promising future.
He’s reminded of this and evading conviction all in the same sentence, after pleading guilt, just inches away from accountability.
And no one offered me a single word sweet
Just sent me home and back to the school that lined the crime scene
where I would start my freshman year as the girl who cried rape.
Suicide encouragements pour out of my locker, whispers coat the halls almost as thick as my blood on his hands — why did this happen to me?
And now on the eve of my death day, it’s very literally now been a decade
and they say if it won’t matter in 5 years don’t spend more than 5 minutes on it but it’s been 10
And I still have PTSD
Flinching in shock when light shines through the leaves
I still panic when cold hands find their place amongst intimacy
And he still got off Scott-free
Do you see what I mean??
I am a product of the system
I am the question mark at the end of the sentence
“Well what were you wearing?”
And I just can’t stop crying.
It’s been 10 years and I’m still not over this lifetime sentence
when all he got was 18 months probation
And now apparently an engagement?
I pray for her every day.
I pray to the God who had forsaken me— why??
Why me? I scream every time a man wants to take what’s mine
When will it finally be the last time?
Why do People only listen when you put your pain in a rhyme?
Now trauma resembles home.
At least maybe another woman will know she’s not alone.
At least I finally reclaimed the voice I lost all those years ago
YOU DONT GET TO HAVE THE LAST WORD.
May you rot in a shallow grave as the world forgets your name
This is my story.
I hope you choke on the blood that runs cold inside you
I hope you drown on the words of all the people you lied to
I hope you suffer for all eternity, a life sentence for every drop of my blood that fell to your feet.
I am tired of using my voice to curse you
So instead I’ll speak life into survivors like me.
May my words crush you with failure for not being able to silence me
And be able to speak for the millions still trying find their own voice — I hear you even in the absence of words.
I will fight for you until I can no longer breathe.
10 years later, and I finally know who I’m meant to be.