THE RAPIST

 
save africa
Some stories are too blurry,
Too difficult to bring to the surface,
But the blood and bruisers,
Between my legs, Don’t let me forget,
God created us with curves and bends,
Only to admire us,
Not to abuse us,
Its violence not sex,
If someone hit you with a spade,
You wouldn’t call it gardening,
When people are taught verbs and,
Adjectives,
They should be told that,
These word carry,
Emotions and actions too,
Why did you keep buying me drinks that night?
So you could get me say yes to you?
After I told you time and time no?
No! One word, two alphabets,
A million feelings?
When you pinned me to the floor,
And ripped my dress off,
You kept referring yourself a lion,
King of the jungle,
Who won’t be denied,
But the voices in my head,
Keep whispering,
Dead lions don’t roar.
So when the police asked,
Why I didn’t close my legs,
I asked them as to why,
Hadn’t they closed their investigation,
Consent will never be physical.
Where did I go wrong?
I wanted to yell about it,
Damn it!
All I could whisper,
Is to say ‘I’m fine’.
Today the voices won,
I sneaked into your room,
Like  you did mine,
I drove I knife deep into your heart,
Because dead men don’t rape either,
Do they?

 

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