Collective Unrest

 

black shards

December 19, 2018

*TW for sexual assault 

1/2

my sexuality has been invaded all my life

that night especially

that night I was torn I was ripped I was shattered

black shards of glass,my eyes bleeding,achy after

wet and cold and for some reason ashamed

because maybe I wanted it? maybe I asked for it

silky shimmer dressing my skin,legs long

black thigh high heels,lace,I don’t wear bras either

fuck them and fuck him for invading my intimacy

 

it’s mine my sex is not yours to claim

and I’m taking it back

(though I can’t help but wonder

was it my fault?)

2/2

my intimacy should be cherished because it is just that

intimate

my sexuality should be caressed my sex stroked

touch me with soft hands hold me like I’m glass

keep in mind my sexuality is fragile and forever mine

(although I might be willing to share)

I used to let it get passed through undeserving hands

but I know now I am golden I will break fake metals

I need a platinumsoul pure and shining and raw

 

Aryanah Haydu has recently completed a degree in Creative Writing… Lost as any soul out there, she finds solace in playing with words and lives life attempting to avoid the pressures of her existential timeclock.

Please follow and like us:
In category:
Newer Post

American Blackshirt

Previously published in Edge City Review, 2001   He crouches, shadowing shadows behind an insignificant bush. Suburban streetlamps fail to flush him from his lair. Behind an insignificant bush, he is still obvious, in dark as in day. To flush…
Read
Older Post

humanity

Gladly sucking the poison from these putrid skies that rip apart at a moment's notice, A man sits in an old white house. Tongue lax, fingers slugs leaving slime and oil smeared across, a violent horizon, that threatens to destroy…
Read
Random Post

The Old Colossus

  There was a time, once, when we spoke of tired, poor, huddled masses yearning to breathe free, and we did not mean people who were already here. Wretched was not an insult, and refuse was not a verb. We…
Read
Random Post

Slow Information

*Previously published in Alligator Jupiter, Fall 2002, and Poets Against the War, March 2003 You decide to paint something, a portrait, say, of Hitler reclining. Grove of red roses. Blue sky padded with glowing white cumuli. Your daughter’s doll between…
Read
Random Post

Let me tell you something, sweetheart, Or, Dear capitalist

It’s not a secret that this doesn't end well or doesn't end at all until everything does even the orioles and the salamanders and the making of rice cakes and cobwebs and love or that half of us are being…
Read
Random Post

Dolls

Forty three. The sell by date of my body has expired. Luckily, I haven't been left on the shelf. Someone took me out of the wrapper a while ago. There's been some deterioration of condition, scuff marks, dents. My skin…
Read