Aftertaste of Shame


a rush comes with anger

with the aftertaste of


naive to the notion

    that it could happen to me

am I to blame?

with the aftertaste of shame.

I cross my arms to cover

    My body

deserted streets and long walks home

when will they realize

I was sober.

Am I a slur?

I cover My body to

    Feel Safe

am I to blame?

I was sober

am I a slur?

That rush of anger and fear

in the empty streets and quickening of footsteps

despite society hammering into our minds

I am not to blame.

Guide that inspired this poem: 



"Am I a slur?" is amazing. It's a pun that is taken incredibly seriously, and it's a perfect example of how we humans feel like we have to make light of terrible, terrible situations just to be able to talk about them. It's hard to find straight-talk like this on what sometimes seem like blurred lines with rape, and how we can guilt ourselves into believing in those blurred lines. "[You are] not to blame."

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