The first time I heard the word rape was when I was 12 from my 11 year old niece.
She told me she had been raped by her neighbor a man she knew for years.
The second time I heard it was from my friend who told me she had been raped by her boyfriend.
The next time I heard it was in a scream that came from my own lips and a boy who was
grabbing my hips, trying to silence my lips with a sloppy kiss and a "shut up bitch"
I begged for it to stop and was too afraid, paralyzed to fight back.
I told a man who said "it'll be okay." and foolishly I believed.
He had me tell the police. Detectives and officers swarming around me, questions without answers
a daze of men and fear, a day without light but plenty of tears.
I thought that all of this would bring justice and an end to the pain.
Detective with a recorder and a notepad asks me what I was wearing, where I was and If I was drunk
I tell him. I was drunk and wearing a dress. He says are you sure you weren't asking for it.
I tried to restrain my anger as I said "No one would ask for that." he smiles a condescending smile and says
"are you sure you didn't ask for it."
Justice is dead and so am I so screw this world