Nestling together, blame and judgement
let’s talk about that.
Were you there?
Were you wearing her clothes?
You know, the ones she asked him not to pull off?
Did you feel her heart accelerating?
While her soul wept in fear of what was to come?
Were you witness to all her life which came before?
Those hours and years preceding the time plundering began?
As a child, I was well-warned; all the right messages.
Speak up, said my parents, to avoid sexual harm and keep safe;
So, yeah.
Don’t you think I judge me, too?
I judge myself late into the night,
while you, and the world, all lie there,
sleeping.
I judge myself on acts long past,
long forgotten by their orchestrators.
I judge myself for the frozenness
preventing my legs from running.
I judge myself for not escaping torment
and shame, all these days and years gone by.
Fervently, I search to find a chink of justification.
I listen to my sisters asking “Why do they violate us so?”
Where do we look for the redemption we furtively seek?
From rough, sweaty hands, grabbing, groping, stealing?
Those ugly eyes intimidate us, so our gaze stays downcast
as we wait.
Wait for the nightmare to pass.
My body, a catalyst for every intrusive act,
the harm, the pillaging
shamefully invading personal
places I did not want to share.
Places I tried to protect.
Places that are mine.
Places they raided.
So, let me ask you –
who are you?
Who the fuck are you?
And who the fuck are you to judge?
Photo by engin akyurt on Unsplash
