He Said …. She Said – Spoken Word

A Spoken Word Piece
Submitted by: Empress Colleen

He said if I tell anyone he will kill me
I didn’t want to die so I didn’t tell,
I hid that secret very well.
He asked me how I feel?
I said fine.
What the hell do I know? I was nine.
I said I will tell my mother he said he didn’t care,
if she cared about you she would have never left you here.
Now allow me for one moment to get things clear
and I don’t give a damn who I anger in here.
But how can a mother sleep good at night
knowing something with her daughter just isn’t right?
He thought this was a joke but I had to keep playing
didn’t know my innocence was actually straying.
They say stop talking about it let it go sweep it under the rug.
They didn’t know all I wanted was a simple hug.
They lie when they said one size fit all.
These nasty perverts touching children from small.
Years built up of anger this thought never left my mind.
I wish someone can take away all my pain,
so I would never have to go through stress again,
no more walking in the rain
time to break these chains
wish there was less to lose n more to gain.
No more waiting in vain,
wish things can go back to normal or being the same.
I just need you to know you don’t have to be ashamed.
Sexual abuse is not a game.

Pillaged – A True Story of Being Drugged & Raped

Submitted by: MM

Backstory: This happened to me 25 years ago. I made a police report days later just to have a record of something, but because had washed away the evidence, I had no case. It was during the police interview that I learned I had most likely been drugged, as I had never felt so unable to move in my life. I wrote this as exactly how I felt and how the memories came back to me. It still haunts me to this day.

Movement. Sounds. Eyes crack open, exceptionally dark room, window, the outline of a short-haired male figure hovering above me, music playing. Different male laughing farther away. Groggy, numb, unfamiliar place, not dreaming… or am I? Thirsty, cotton scraping my tongue and roof of my mouth, cigarettes in my nose. Hard, cold floor, sheet or blanket, carpet. Hands on me, cannot see, cannot move.

An undetermined amount of time has passed before waking again. As if a nightlight has been switched on, it is dawn. Laughing male with a lit cigarette can be seen and heard moving around on a couch by a large window draped with a sheet. The long-sleeved turtleneck shirt I am wearing is pushed up to my bra, a blanket somewhat over me. Something is missing, something doesn’t feel right, something is wrong. Short hair and shoulder-length hair moving above me, everything seems surreal. Cannot move, don’t know where I am, how I got here, why I feel the way I do. Tears roll down my temples as Nirvana plays on the radio, the male on the couch laughing between stanzas. Laughing at what? No one is talking. Laughing at me? I fall back to darkness.

Night before… Valerie… dark, cold, windy… cold enough in Florida to wear long-sleeves, pants, boots. Dancing, laughing… Valerie… domestic beer, packed dance floor, lights flashing…. Valerie’s grungy boyfriend, his grubby friends… one: tall, blond, skinny, creepy… two: short, mousy, uninteresting… three: tattooed redhead… dancing, beer, lights… Sitting on beach dunes… freezing cold… Valerie?… creepy next to me, talking, talking, talking… wind blowing, sand blowing, sand in my boots, my socks, my eyes.

Awakened, the sun has risen. I can see everything… Valerie and her boyfriend sleeping on the floor across the room… the laughing redhead on the couch asleep… creepy and mousy sleeping on each side of me. I now recognize that I’m in a shady part of town where Valerie’s boyfriend stays, an apartment we’d stopped at before going out last night.

Head hurts, nauseated, lethargic. Why do I feel so weak? This is not a normal hangover. I force my way to a bathroom, wrapping a sheet around me. Only a few steps onto a matted, dirty carpet to a filthy bathroom, the toilet hasn’t been cleaned in months and no toilet paper. I look at the disgusting sink, no soap for my hands. Gross. No towels. A mirror above the sink is speckled with white spots, barely visible to see a reflection. Who lives like this? My entire body hurts, I hold my throbbing head. What the fuck happened? How did I end up here? Where are my pants? I use the sheet to wipe myself and tiptoe back to where I had been on the floor, finding my pants bunched up under a blanket.

I wake Valerie, whispering as to not disturb anyone else so I can have a clean escape. We search for my underwear, socks, boots. Everything is found except my underwear, which will no doubt become someone’s trophy. We grab our purses and head to her car where I tell her everything I remember.

Valerie knew? She knew what they were doing and didn’t stop them, didn’t know that I was unconscious. How could she not know I wouldn’t have wanted that to happen? She agrees they should not have done that, acts upset about it. I can’t believe she knew.

I feel somewhat relieved as I shut the door behind me at home, except that a whole new emotion has kicked in knowing that I have to rid of these repulsive clothes and shower away imaginary putrid maggots. A long hot shower washes tears and snot and puke down the drain. Water is warm and comforting. At least I have soap now, but it is not enough to cleanse the revolting filth that has encrusted my soul.