Rape Poem

Rape Culture & Awareness

This is my story, about what happened to me when I was 12. The point was to get people to feel, and understand something that not everyone understands. For those who haven't experienced this, I hope it helps you understand and connect with people who have.

Featured Shared Story

I was so touched by this heartbreaking tale that no person should have to endure, nevertheless a twelve-year-old. I was lucky and never had something so overwhelmingly hard to live through...

Read complete story

Share your story! (1)

Black Bird

Laura C. Taylor ©

Published: October 13, 2018

Painting is for pictures
too hard to understand
so let me paint you a picture
of a girl
who has a little too much to understand..

her heart was a two ton brick in her fist
that kept her pinned
to the exact spot on the ground
he wanted her to be in
when she's 12
and those 27 minutes felt like eternity,
clinging to her sanity

like the last molecule of burned up air in a gas chamber
she slept on cindered feathers
sucking on the bones of her rotting body
holding back panicked breaths
like other kids hold stuffed animals
sinister smiling eyes
venom spit
splashed across her limbs

"You're so pretty.."
you're so pretty.
seeds of fear planted
in a daughter,
whose father,
didn't know,
she couldn't go any farther

the limbs of her body bare branched
creaking away from his whispered breaths
leaves burned up with the heat of guilt
hidden in the smoke are her pleading eyes
her roots ripped up and flung away
with the drop of his pants
gritting teeth sewn shut
with the bone needles of a broken bird
brittle body vibrating
against the pine tree that
looked "so pretty,"
two hours ago

two bodies
two lungs
pressed against the cage
that kept her soul contained
red and blue flashes
translate to blackness
and 6 years later
her sheets are still soaked
trembling with the sound of her own frozen voice
cracking
shattering

melting into puddles she tried to pick up
with dirty hands
and a dirty heart
dripping into the exact consistency
of the mud he left her in
fingernails full of his fingerprints
and the dew on the grass
came from her eyes
and the sheen off her body
clothing buried
and burned
smoking up to follow the bird
that unwillingly flew away

blacked painting hung up
on the pale bone frame
those 18 years and no one taught him a shred of decency
you'd think it should be inked into his humanity
but no.
she sings into the ashes
calling it back
lungs raw
throat black

she can't see his face
she can't know his name
she can't say that
she carved herself up like an animal
creating a scarred picture
everyone's seen before
but few have known
can't say that she breathes a storm
then pounds her body
until her tears turn red
and everything goes numb again
and she can finally believe for a second
your hands aren't his hands

If I knew her what could I say?
that there's something beautiful about skinned knees
and the fault lines in her eyes
and the way she scrubs her blood from the floor
and the fact that I can't stay quiet anymore
the flames my guilt fans
grow brighter when I think
that because I didn't speak
he could have gone on to ruin
another perfect thing
a perfect thing who's picture
looks a whole lot like mine.

  • Stories 1
  • Shares 828
  • Favorited 16
  • Votes 406
  • Rating 4.55
  • Poem of the Week
Has this poem touched you? Share your story!

I was so touched by this heartbreaking tale that no person should have to endure, nevertheless a twelve-year-old. I was lucky and never had something so overwhelmingly hard to live through happen to me. I thought I understood how painful it could be for anyone who hadn't been so lucky. I didn't know. Now I fully understand how hard this experience can be and how it could truly ruin lives. My heart goes out to the author. I cried when I read it. It was beautifully written and I'm sure it will help others that have been through the same ordeal feel that they are not alone - that someone else has been there and has put their story out there to help others understand. Thank you for sharing your poem.

Back to Top