The rape joke is that you were seventeen,
the legal age of consent in your home state.
The rape joke is that you took him to church.
The rape joke is that your grandmother trusted
you and left you alone with him because
he said that he would get you home safely.
The rape joke is that, against your better judgement,
you went down to the amphitheater with him, alone.
It was dark but he had a kind smile and you
trusted everyone until they gave you a reason not to.

The rape joke is that he knew you were four years
clean and used drugs to get what he wanted.
The rape joke is that he complimented you during.
The rape joke is that it lasted for three hours,
all the while you lay beneath him
on that picnic table, entirely conscious and aware.
You could feel, see and hear everything but
you couldn’t move. You tried to scream but you couldn’t.

The rape joke is that he kissed your tears away.
The rape joke is that he held your hand,
as you sat in silence, in the back of a taxi.

The rape joke is that he texted you when he got home,
making sure that you “keep this between us
and don’t tell anyone about anything.”
The rape joke is that you muffled your cries for an hour,
not wanting to wake anyone in the house.
The rape joke is that you called your grandmother
and apologized over and over, as if you were to blame.

The rape joke is that at the hospital you were
guilted into having a rape kit done, but come to find out
the doctor didn’t log anything. All your evidence is gone.

The rape joke is that once the police arrived they asked
“What had you been wearing?”
“Are you sure you didn’t give consent earlier?”
“You’re aware that it’s just going to be he said/she said, right?”
“In this state you’re over the age to give consent.”
“Did he drug you or did you do drugs and regret it?”
The rape joke is that it’s illegal to have sex
with someone under the influence but the police
seem to have misplaced your toxicology report
from that night. There’s no proof drugs were ever involved.

The rape joke is that the police have already had
their interview with him, but its been 70 days
since the assault and they won’t even return your calls.
The rape joke is that you have to have therapy
4-5 times a week and now are on 6 different
medications, but the nightmares, flashbacks, panic attacks
and thoughts of wanting to kill yourself
still won’t go away. You’re scarred.
The rape joke is that you deeply crave touch
but flinch when someone even walks too close to you.

The rape joke is that 1 in 6 American women
have been a victim of an attempted or completed
rape in her lifetime. Each year, there are about
237,868 victims of sexual assault.

The rape joke is that once you told your family what
had happened they began to confess things as well.
The rape joke is that your sister was raped by
her ex-boyfriend and your mother was gang raped at 15 
and raped again by her boss at 19, giving birth to you as a result.
The rape joke is that, like many cases, neither was reported.

The rape joke is that you’re forced to keep
what happened to you a secret because if you don’t
you’re looked at as the one who did something wrong.
The rape joke is that you have to go on
with your life, feeling disgusted with your own existence.
The rape joke is that you must suffer in silence.
You’ve become the rape joke.

Become the Rape Joke

Inspired by Lora Mathis’s poem “the Rape Joke" and "Rape Joke" by Patricia Lockwood.

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Fall Colors 
October 19, 2014

click here to enter into a teenage boys mind

The boy who blocked his own shot // Brand New





This girl right here. She’s actually an amputee, which is why her leg is separated. It’s inspiring, really. You go, girl!


This is beautiful

did you forget scratching off your skin on
the floor of your parents’ shower, home
from a chilly vacation with a warm girl?
a text at three am: “I’ve peeled all my skin off
do you still love me? can you still love a mess of bloody
muscle, viscous trails, teeth, teeth, teeth?? things
on the outside that should not be? should be
packed away behind layers of flesh?”
a text the next morning: “wtf.”
quit droning.
she doesn’t love you.
she only held your hand that time you cried in
the hallways so that
you would shut up
she only kissed you, perched on your hips like
a pixie (long hair and mirage lips and clementine vodka)
only kissed you so that you would shut up
shut up shut up
shut up

about tiny girls with too-big eyes and too-red lips
who write badly about snowflakes
and boys with bad hands
trying to romanticize his dirt brown eyes and
skinny meanness and the
ingrained sadness of teenaged heterosexuality


remember riding bikes at night in northern california
kissing on various couches but
never alone. remember
our almost-summer
remember fluorescent lights and bad skin
economics class and crying in the bathroom
texts late at night: “don’t say that,
you’re beautiful
you’re beautiful you’re
you’re beautiful”

and don’t love girls who love boys who hate themselves
don’t love girls who won’t scoop up your
organs when they spill on summer driveways
queezy girls, uneasy girls
girls who have never read an anatomy book they
just stand there staring
at your kidneys on the ground,
your intestines your pancreas maybe

and even though she’s swollen with superiority
and sanity you still want to take
her little face in your hands but your fingers
are bloody
you’ve misplaced all your skin, sent it swimming down the drain and now even now, months later,
you can see her when you close your eyes
you can see her standing there
in the dark
your bloody fingers have left streaks down
her cheeks and
she is laughing and
she is going to kiss you even though she is sober
and you are only a simple viscous mass of tissue,
writhing in her driveway

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short film (x)


sometimes i forget how pale i am but then i see this picture

angel xx

where is my mind?