A Curse on those Offended by Rape Poems
You dare not stitch my lips
mending the part that offends,
whipping the edges of my condemnation,
hemming in thick layers of guilt.
I reject pointy fingers
and sharp intakes of breath,
hurtful as the pain
of forced intercourse.
Slashes in secret places
do not easily suture up.
We bleed far longer than
the stains on bandages suggest.
She did not dress
to have her wrist snapped
or toss her hair
Don’t ask her what she was doing
there, the same as you I reckon,
minding her own business.
Pray you don’t have to give account.
I will keep on counting meter
to match the thrusts of his hips
and dare you to keep pace
or outlast me. These lines
are not free verse. So having paid
I will stand and deliver
paying no mind to anyone not broken