if i said i do not care that you were a doctor,

or a sweeper, would you forgive me? 

i imagine you stretched out and weeping

over your broken body, 

watching, not able to look away

from the man taking what was never his. 

if i tell you, you could have been a pauper 

or a queen, if i tell you rape is rape 

and nothing can make it go away

would you see? would you see your dreams 

melting in the dark, would you see 

the bruised body bound to a stretcher?

workplace or roadside, it all ends in the morgue, 

will you forgive me? for i have failed. 

for every time i was groped and was silent, 

i was to blame. for every man that thought

my silence meant he got away, i am to blame. 

i did not shout or scream, silently relying

on my own safety mechanism

failing to see that men go away thinking

that they can always take

what is never theirs to take. 

will i be able to look you in the eye, 

(and i know it is not you alone)

when i know i have somehow 

allowed this to go on, not screaming

when i have ought to? 

now that scream catches in my throat 

but i am silent. if you take my hand 

you will find it listless and cold. 

clammy are the thoughts that surround me,

stillborn are the dreams we share. 

who knows what creatures there are

what beasts live in the minds of men 

who knows what makes some people think

that they can take what is never theirs, who knows

how long is a piece of string?

let us place you gently,

let me will you peace, let us rage on, then

long after the winds have blown,

only know that we will not silence

and you never walk alone.