If Not For The Poets?

Rape CW

I once knew a girl who asked 

Why there were so many 

Rape poems written by teenage girls?

She said it with a sneer and a look 

Down at the page of scrawled words in my hands. 

I asked her who should write the rape poems, 

If not for teenagers?

She shrugged and sighed, 

There should be no rape poems, 

She said with that faux sincerity 

Of someone that has never looked 

Into the eyes of a man forcing himself 

Upon your fragile body. 

I replied with the torn throat that 

Had been ripped by muffled screams, 

But who would talk about rape

If not for the poets?

There was a pause in the conversation, 

And she sat herself down with the 

Ease of someone that has never felt 

Their will crack under the weight of a forced kiss. 

She smiled at me, swept her hair back 

And leaned forwards. If no one talked about it, 

She reasoned, there would be no fuss. 

The paper in my hands crumpled.

I muttered, would it stop happening 

If we talked about it?

Her nails became interesting at this point, 

And I knew she had never had to 

Use them as a weapon. 

She didn't look at me as she said, 

Of course it would still happen. 

So why, I asked, should we stop talking about it? 

Stop writing about it? 

Stop thinking about it? 

She couldn't answer me. 

When she stood up and walked away,

I wasn't surprised.