We were supposed to come in earlier that week (myself and the 4 other female poets - this was a benefit to raise money for an established and celebrity funded Violence Against Women Awareness program) and just do our pieces in front of the companies board members. I performed my piece for them, and then the next day I received a phone call asking me if I could take out all the swear words as well as specific body part references. I told them, yes. I mean, all words are are a cover for subtext. Plus I needed the cash, so...Whatever. Then, later on that day they called back to inform me that they could not have me perform and that I could still come and pick up my check....for the trouble. I did.
While I have never laid claim to being some great or even mediocre poet (man...I just write to get myself by) I was a wee bit upset by this to say the least. The other women had pieces that, well, to put it one way, weren't angry (safer for a corporate board?) This older lady had a piece about a father molesting her and it was incredibly baby-ied down, like, victim style and had this elaborate repetition involving her holding a teddy bear.
I was one of 2 twenty somethings that were set for the performance, and you know, I think this reflects that. I was raped when I was 16. I was a virgin. The guy who did this to me was part of my high-school group of friends. I didn't speak about it for a long time, I never processed it or even understood it as being rape (you really don't learn what date-rape is...until...) I never started speaking up about these things until I went to college. I wrote this when I was in school. I never told my mother about it until about a year or so ago. After I was raped, the day after literally, I became anorexic/bulimic and struggled with that for about a decade. There was a lot of shit stewing sill when I wrote this one...
I haven't performed this piece in years. Whenever I used to, I always had women come up to me and thank me for sharing. They all had stories (and they, all strangers, then shared them with me) Don't we all. It's one thing to read my stuff, and it's an entirely different thing for me to perform this one. I performed in bars - and I played up the sexuality in the beginning - guys would holler - they thought I was doing some hot lesbian piece- and then it would get really, really, quiet. And yes, it is angry. But fuck man, that's part of the fucking process. I think it's bullshit to censure (which I felt happened to me) anyone who dares to talk, scream, or even fucking yell about the reality, about dealing, about coping, with these things, these realities which affect mostly every woman. In the world. From eating disorders (control-control-control issues) to violence, to rape, to molestation, to fillintheblankwiththatwhichhappenstoawomaneverysinglesecond. It is our job, and it is my job, to vocalize, to share, to spread, what I feel with an utmost urgency, a need to talk about it. We can't deal with what's hidden. So here is my angry, juvenile attempt of understanding what happened to me. And stayed with me. On prom night.
(Btw-About a year ago I met this woman out in LA. She's from my hometown. I never knew her from there. We have a mutual friend. Who told her about this. She told me, when I met her, that this same fellow, raped her too. She was in high-school. She was a virgin. I wonder what would have happened, if one of us, just one of us (and god knows how many he did this to) had spoken out. Had pressed charges....)
Prom night. Prom night senior year, so I asked her to skip the dance. Skip the dance and come over. You're just a sophmore; you have two more chances for prom. But me, I'm leaving this hot city. Leaving. And all I want is for you to come over.
She came over, and I showed her around my apartment. Showed her my collection of Bad Religion posters, showed her my living room, showed her my kitchen, showed her my bar. And I poured her a drink - a stiff screwdriver - I put a little of my special mix into it - my ladies mix - my mix for the special young sophmore with perky tits and a tight ass mix.
And I sat her on my couch - my balding brown and grey couch and she was wearing these shorts. These shorts were just asking to be fucked/just begging to be fucked. These white/tight/cordorouy shorts and I just wanted to stick my hand up there. I just wanted to take my fingers and press up into that little virgins box. That hot city/of lights/of lust/those hot shorts with those beautiful thighs/those creamy smooth thighs that I wanted to leave my cream all over.
She finished her drink/my special mix drink/it was already working/so i ran my fingers through her wild hair/I worked her neck towards my lips/i ran my hand up in between her beautiful thighs/her eyes rolled back as she stammered "I don't feel good - that drink was strange/so I whispered just relax baby/it's prom night/i'll take care of you/so i picked her up/threw her over my shoulder/brought her to my bed/and laid that sweet ass down.
It's such a hot city/such a hot night/let me take these clothes off for you/and i kept kissing her/i had to keep kissing her so she'd quit saying stop/and i had to keep ramming my tongue down her throat so she'd quit saying no/and i put her hands behind her head and told her
Now I really want to show you something/you're ready/you've waited your whole life for this/for me/my cock/so i showed her/and i pulled my dick out from my pants and got on top/her eyes were closed/she was blacked out/as i positioned myself for that tight virgin pussy/for that dry cunt/and i began to thrust/and began to thrust/and began to thrust.
When I finished/I put her back on the couch/wiped the blood from her thigh/fixed those little white shorts/she would never remember
she would never remember
it was prom night
and me
i'm leaving this hot city
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