Fri, 05/24/2013 - 07:37 -- chahn94


South Korea

When I was thirteen,
I had my first f***.
Sex has this positive connotation
Of being greatly enjoyable by both participants
The guy’s feeling fly, girl’s feeling high
And for this feeling,
Hundreds and thousands and millions
Of girls
no older than sixteen were
Dragged away by their hair, thrown into trucks
Duped into thinking that they were going to factories
Stripped from innocence, here are their stories.
World war 2,
Besides Hitler, there was more to it, who knew?
Let’s go behind the scenes
Behind all the men and their guns and glory
We’ll address the battle on the homefront
Of women fighting, so hold on to your gut
Dig deeper and it gets gory
This forgotten page in history
My name is Korea
I am fifteen years old
I am a spirit girl, or that’s what I’ve been told
Taken to a comfort station
Ha, to which member of any nation
Can comfort be seen in this abomination
They said I’d be making socks
Apparently being raped by 20 different men a day means making socks in Japanese
My name is Philippines
I am sixteen years old
I took the place of my twelve year old baby sister
Hoping that in my sacrifice, she wouldn’t have to pay the price
But they took us both
My name is China
I will never forget the day you struck the girl
Who would not bow to you
The blood dripping off your sword
Dripping down her thighs from the cuts in her sides
Forever burned into my memory
My name is Vietnam
My name is Malaysia
My name is Macau, my name is Burma
New Guinea Singapore Thailand Hong Kong Indonesia
My name is 200,000 women
Spending 10 years in 3 by 4 foot cubicles of wood and terror
I will never forget the way you looked at me
Nothing but a piece of meat
I remember you
I remember your face
Your eyes
Your words
Your deeds
5 decades later you call me a prostitute
a fourteen year old, know nothing of the world
you don’t even look at me, you’d rather I didn’t exist?
We are still here I am still alive
youth forever lost
you say I willingly shared my body with hundreds of men just for the sake of some military yen?
Time does not erase my memories
Time cannot heal all wounds
especially if you think that $1.08 cents is enough to compensate
for my childhood, innocence, and future unbloomed
But I don’t hate, I can’t hate
For something like that, it’s far too late
Money and official language won’t do at this rate, ‘cause I got a date with fate
My bones are weak my mind is weary
Now don’t get teary, deary
My time is quickly coming to an end
The end of our era is waving from right around the bend
So remember me, just remember my story.
Don’t let me be a page left blank, in His story.


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741