day 296

in the game of slam,
you play to win.
you don't recite your secrets
and spit up your blood
just to become friends
with people.
if that is the case,
you would've settled
for a spot
on the
o p e n
mic.
when i talk about my
rape,
i risk the chance of
drainage.
a slow slither and
tug
    and
pull
of my soul.
the loss of a slam,
to me,
feels like
i didn't have the best
sob story.
because that's
what
it
really
is
in the end.
we are all
comparing
sob stories.
                 your rape poem was the best rape poem of the night
and i will
smile
but i am secretly
screaming
inside of my skin.
there are knives
taking turns
at playing darts against
my face.
STAB
you were molested when you were 11
STAB
he didn't stop until you could decide you didn't need a babysitter anymore
STAB
you're just another my babysitter raped me poem
STAB
your mother is insensitive to your assault
STAB
your ex boyfriend used to hit you
STAB
boo hoo, another woman empowerment poem
STAB
more fuck the patriarchy poems
STAB
STAB
stab