If it’s just humor,

why are you all so upset?

I will tell you what your humor is;

please, let me tell the rape joke.

It’s a joke you’ve heard before, I’m sure

(and you say, dear god, another rape poem?).

But wait.

This is a joke. It’s humor, it’s funny,

please don’t get offended.

This is the rape joke:

The joke is that I was fifteen,

I was homeschooled and awkward and shy.

The joke is that I practiced “modesty” and wore a purity ring,

because I was a good girl, and good girls don’t have sex.

The joke is that he didn’t care.

The joke is that I was working at my good little job

so I could go to my conservative Christian college,

the one with the dress codes and the purity contracts and the good, good girls.

The joke is that he told me he was a “good man.”

The joke is that I screamed, and nobody, nobody heard me.

The joke is that when I felt his hands on my body, grabbing, groping, robbing,

I was powerless to stop him.

The joke is that my boss told me that I,

in my awkward, shy childishness,

must have “invited” this middle-aged man to touch my body.

The joke is that the good men and women told me

“God will punish you if you ruin this man’s career.”

The joke is that he stopped just sort of taking everything,

so they told me not to report him.

“Other girls have had it worse,” they said.

“It isn’t enough. Let bygones be bygones.”

The joke is that I listened to them.

The joke is that it has been three years, and I do not sleep.

The joke is that if I do, I wake up screaming.

The joke is that I cannot be in the same room with a man I don’t know

without looking for an escape route.

The joke is that when I say “yes all women,”

you scream that I am a cunt who needs to be raped

again.

The joke is that you blame us for every time you have made a woman feel unsafe,

with your “friendzones” and your catcalls and your wandering hands.

The joke is that after all of this you have the audacity to ever so righteously say

“shut up, cunt”

“go die, whore.”

The joke is that they listen to you, and they tell me that this nightmare

is nothing but my survivor privilege.

The joke is that I was fifteen,

and it was my fault.

Do you hear me laughing?