Justice

The first time I heard the word rape was when I was 12 from my 11 year old niece.

She told me she had been raped by her neighbor a man she knew for years. 

The second time I heard it was from my friend who told me she had been raped by her boyfriend.

The next time I heard it was in a scream that came from my own lips and a boy who was 

grabbing my hips, trying to silence my lips with a sloppy kiss and a "shut up bitch" 

I begged for it to stop and was too afraid, paralyzed to fight back. 

I told a man who said "it'll be okay." and foolishly I believed. 

He had me tell the police. Detectives and officers swarming around me, questions without answers 

a daze of men and fear, a day without light but plenty of tears. 

I thought that all of this would bring justice and an end to the pain. 

Detective with a recorder and a notepad asks me what I was wearing, where I was and If I was drunk

I tell him. I was drunk and wearing a dress. He says are you sure you weren't asking for it. 

I tried to restrain my anger as I said "No one would ask for that." he smiles a condescending smile and says 

"are you sure you didn't ask for it." 

Justice is dead and so am I so screw this world 

Goodbye. 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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