WARNING!!! TRIGGER WORDS, FOUL LANGUAGE, AND MATURE CONTENT
Please do not read this if you have any sensitivities to what was mentioned above. As someone who has been through some rough experiences, I understand how these things can make one feel. Please read at your own risk.
Also, for those of you who have to have perfect grammar, the grammar inconsistencies and mistakes are in the piece for poetic purpose.
Letter to Rapist
You thought yourself strong as you pushed me down on that bed and striped me of my dignity, tossing it on the cold floor. You thought I wouldn’t mind if you took me, bent over, while the world around me turned black and shattered. You thought it was ok when I was drunk and laughing, but I wasn’t laughing when you broke my trust. It wasn’t ok when I woke up to you next to me, your hand groping for that secret place inside me. You thought it was what I wanted, even when I said no. Even when I screamed and cried, pushing you away. Even when I passed out, naked and broken on the floor. Even when you touched me as if I was a porcelain doll, afraid to crack something you found so fragile, then proceeded to fuck me so hard I bled. It wasn’t ok.
But in your eyes, the world’s eyes, this pain was my fault. In your mind I loved you, wanted you, craved you. I needed to be violated as you tethered me to the bed and blinded my eyes with handkerchiefs I used to tie back my hair; that was your delusion. And when you were done with me, you picked me up and tossed me aside like a used rag. You didn’t care who I was. You didn’t care about me. All you wanted was a quick lay, and you didn’t even ask. You just took. And so now, I am another trophy, another notch on your belt, so you can go and tell your friends, “Hey, I had sex with her.” And at that moment, I bet you were proud of yourself. But when you saw my tears, heard my pain, it became my fault, my problem. The guilt strangled me, cutting off my air until I could no longer breathe. But it was my fault.
It was my fault that you felt the need to assault me, rape me, destroy me from the inside out until I no longer wanted to live because who could ever love a piece of trash. And I didn’t dare go to the police. Why would they help me, when it’s my fault? Why would I want to fight the court system? Be violated by doctors and tell my story over and over until it becomes my life, my world, just so you can laugh and say that you did nothing wrong and that she’s lying? Besides, I didn’t want to deal with another man, not today, afraid and alone, wounded and crying.
I wonder how many other women you have done this to. I should have been smarter. I should have listened to the rumors. I shouldn’t have gone off by myself. I shouldn’t have trusted you, but I did. And for that I am sorry, not for your actions or what they did to me. I am sorry for my own crimes of which I am only guilty of being the girl foolish enough to believe that you were different. I wish I hadn’t been wrong.
But through this pain, I have become stronger. I will not be kept down. I will not be silent. I will not stop. What you did to me was wrong. I am not a trophy, a rag, or a piece of trash. I am a woman, strong and alive. After you spent so much time and effort destroying me, I can say you failed. I know life. I know the meaning of true love and companionship, strength, courage, and beauty. You? All you’ll ever know is the company of your hand as you jerk off to the Eagles or Bob Marley every night. I’d say I feel sorry for you, but I’d be lying. Hey, it’s your own damn fault.