She closes her eyes until it is over and hides in the shame of her room.
She won’t tell a soul for fear she’ll be shouldered, and scorned for her frail defense.
But her neighbor comes in when she sees her door open, and sees her there on the ground.
I’ll call 9-1-1; don’t worry you’re safe, it’s over my friend, it’s done.
It wasn’t over. It still is not. It may never be.
Four years later she’s all alone; in her house she has made her fortress.
Everyday she wakes up and wipes off the tears, and every night she cries before bed.
She walks into a room, full of people and readies her self to speak up.
When it’s her turn, she musters the courage, and stands to say this:
My name is Emily, and I was raped. It was four year ago. I was drinking that night,
too much for my own good, and a man came in and pushed me down.
He tore my clothes and stole my innocence. He beat me and broke me and took my self worth.
I told the police; but you see, he’s still free, while I’m locked up—trapped by my own fear.
My rape kit was never tested. The hours I let my body be a living, breathing, hurting crime scene,
the days I told, retold, and told again my story, and the many times I had to identify him—
Nothing has been done, not even an arrest. Because he said, she said and I was drunk.
But you see, I said no; and no means no. So just because I drank and couldn’t fight
Does not mean I need to continue to battle this war.
Not the war of the pain and the sadness that comes, but the anger that no one will see.
Just believe me—he did it; arrest him and I’ll be set free.
NO should be enough, should it not? No more, “she was drunk.” No more, “she didn’t fight.”
She said no, and no means no. Never again should no mean yes.