For The Rapists Who Called Themselves Feminist

"Perhaps this body belongs to the first

time I was raped and I think about how

fucked up it is to begin a sentence with

the first time I was raped and how when

I talk to other women about this it

almost seems like it's not even if

you've been assaulted but when see women

have so much in common like loving Zumba

being interrupted experiencing violence

and when another male friend turns out

to be a rapist the same male friend who

wore feminism across his chest like a

pageant sash I can't help but remember

meeting him at a sexual violence

prevention rally in the disappointing

irony and when another male friend who

identifies as a feminist gives himself

permission to make a rape joke and call

it Rick Lam Ettore as if he doesn't

already can't call the girl who jogs by

his house every day to remind her that

she is just a woman just a thing he can

exert power over just a guess in what

has always been his world his streets

never mind that your joke just made a

survivor relive what was likely the

worst thing to ever happen to them and

you scratch your head wonder why women

are so scared to report will you shrug

your shoulders and make our trauma into

your victory lap the reason you fist

bump your friends at the bar how could I

expect this body to be perfect for

anything but the punch line and if I

don't laugh I am no longer the cool girl

but the one who can't take a joke I have

run out of compassion for men who pose

as feminists but when a woman brings up

the sexual assault epidemic they

suddenly want to talk about something

else something less of a downer I have

run out of compassion for wolves I've

run out of compassion for anyone who

isn't outraged I ran in this stubborn

body followed I am the opposite of

forgiveness I am all rage and shrieked

and flame outside of the women's

freshman dormitory at Yale fraternity

pledges chanted no means yes yes means

anal I fucked dead women and fill them

with my semen a woman is found

unconscious behind a dumpster pine

needles in her hair naked wounded

assaulted meanwhile mean

well everyone is more concerned with how

this experience has taken away her

assailants appetite rather than the

survivors autonomy this is not to say

all men are hungry this is not even to

say that all men are hunting but haven't

we all found the bones of a woman stuff

like leftovers between a full man's

teeth there is a fraternity in Minnesota

that paints the stone lions outside

their front door the color of the

panties of the last girl they

successfully assaulted you call this

rape culture I call it this morning shit

I was cat called four times on the way

here if I trauma were made into an art

museum the most popular exhibit would

showcase portraits of every man who has

ever assaulted me snarling and the smell

of his sweat on my pillowcase follows me

to sociology in the whole class can tell

that most days I am more victim than I

am survivor in this room I try to write

a poem about anything other than my

sexual assault but all that comes out is

my throat in his hands a few hours

before one of my best friend's raped me

on our college campus we discussed the

prospect of astral projection he

couldn't understand why I wanted to

experience it so badly why would anyone

want to leave their body he laughed and

in this moment we had nothing in the

world in common

Oh."