Tuesday, 23 June 2009


this poem deals with sexual violence, following Channel 4's Dispatches TV programme last night "Rape in the City", which has been on my mind all day.

so please do not continue if you may find this upsetting.


Can’t say no.
Can’t say go.
Relentless pressure applied to a soul,
Viewed only as having three accessible holes.
Something so British about an orderly queue,
Waiting patiently in line to penetrate youth.
Boys so weak that they’re thinking they’re strong.
If their mother or sister, would they then see it wrong?
At maturity they’ll claim to be reformed men,
But the girl will see their faces again and again.
Muffled tears rain on concrete steps,
Blood laced briefs that were once best kept.
Tricked from friendship and circles of trust
To satisfy growing urges of adolescent lust,
A code of silence and mistrust of the police,
So no deterrent to ejaculated release.
A princess viewed as flesh and a slut,
Like a special topping ordered from PizzaHut.
Is it girls or themselves that the boys most hate?
Ask them… they don’t even see it as rape.



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