He Heard Yes


I said "no," but he heard "yes."

Harsh hands rip and scrape and tear at clothes and skin,

Teeth gnash and bite and sink into my neck and sanity,

My dignity and self-worth are cast to the side like my undergarments,

My very veins pump my shame and fear and horror. 

I am twisting, writhing, crying, please stop please

But it feels like he never does,

A punishing, relentless, terrifying eternity.

I've seen this in people, other innocents, brought to their knees with a similar reality by Him.

He, the man at the bar who thinks they owed him this after those drinks he bought them,

He, the peers who sneer at them for wearing revealing clothing, because they see cleavage as an invitation,

He, their friend whose adult movie collection has taught him that rape is sexy and women secretly enjoy it,

He, their parents who scorn and blame their child for their own rape, they shouldn't have gone out and gotten drunk, should they?

He, the media, who grieves for teen rapists convicted and sent to jail because that sentence ruined their lives, they had such bright futures ahead of them,

He, the society that teaches men and women to not get raped, rather than to not rape.

I write this for them, that one day,

They will say “no,” and He will hear “no.”


Guide that inspired this poem: 


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