Poem by Sophie Rose // Illustrations by Frizz Kid
Poem by Sophie Rose // Illustrations by Frizz Kid
A note to the men who find me and decide they could grow to like me
Do not
Take my trauma and make it yours
Do not
Tell me my suffering is sexy
Seduce me with a saviour complex
Coo sweet nothings against my open wounds and lick your lips that are stained with my blood and
Murmur trite banalities in my ear
That you found during your Google search “trauma, cliches”
Do not raise your eyebrows and nod your head slowly as you shush me with a variety of sympathy you think is unique, as you distract me with the ocean of understanding you are proud to dump into my lap do not expose yourself like that because I see you
I see the arrogance buried blatantly in the whites of your eyes
I see you making this about you, making me about you
About your tolerance and maturity
Your graciousness and purity
Proof of how deftly you deal with damage
Do not
Contort your shoulder blades to pat yourself firmly on the back
For never having raped a girl
Or maybe for thinking you’ve never raped a girl
Do you know what rape actually is
Do not
Put a thoughtful gift in my rigid hands and wait there while I open it’s
A jack in the box it’s
Your social know-how
Your ethical barometer
Your feminism
An invasive embrace
Violating my face
My claustrophobic space
Demanding that I thank you for it
You smile graciously as I thank you for it
You’ve done me a favour you think
Do not
Ever make the mistake of believing that
A traumatized girl
Will sit by and let you fetishize her trauma
Do not
Talk over me as you
Draft a plan for my improvement
Design a schedule for my remodel
Propose a budget for my worth then tell me don’t worry, no charge, pro bono like
You’re not actually a good person you’re just trying to make me think you are and I can tell, I can tell when you’re trying too hard to make me think you’re not aroused by your own self-importance like
You’re molding me into a project and claiming me like
I am a broken machine for you to fix but
I am a powerhouse
And I am broken, yes
I didn’t ask you to fix me
I asked you to see me
I may be a victim but I am not your victim
Do not
Drape your artificial supremacy over my story and make sure it’s tucked in, covered, all the way round
Lay your conspicuous masculinity on me, but gently
As though conspicuous masculinity has ever solved anything
As though being gentle about it makes it any less toxic
As though it will act as a shield from some danger, some monster, some thing
That already lives in my
Fucking soul
Do not
Find out that it happened on Halloween and that my sheets were orange and
Silence me in your arms
Suffocate me with your chest
Let me talk let me talk let my discomfort be more important than yours for a sec let me finish and then let me ask you to hold me because otherwise
I do not
Want to be touched
By you
Do not
Hear whispers that he was my friend
That he hit me and bruised me and laughed at me and fell asleep in my bed
And feel sorry for me
Feel sorry, do
Sorry that it happened but
Do not
Pity me
Do not
Use my truth as an excuse
To be nice to me
To invite me out
To care about me
Invite me because you like me
Or don’t because you don’t
Do not
Read about how he forced himself inside me through my tears and my no’s and
Call my “courage” “so” “beautiful”
It’s not beautiful
It’s just me talking
I just talk
Talk about this because I have to because it’s my water and my shelter
Courage is subjective
I do it because it’s the only thing that makes any sense because
Doing it for a minute means that’s all that matters
For a minute
Means I feel not alone in this world for a minute
Do not
Let my candor
Make you think those who do not speak out have not been hurt
Make you think it’s okay to minimize me to ‘that raped girl’
Make you think that you’re ever allowed to tell my story without asking first
It’s mine
Mine
May be a victim. Not your victim.
But do not
Pretend that nothing ever happened
Because it did
Everything happened
I think about it every day
Every day about how and why I died
I died
She died
The me before
Building a person from scratch
Trying not let the raging helplessness overwhelm that hybrid human girl only half alive
A brain that frightens itself with its own negativity, spite, sadness
Lungs that can’t quite figure out how to keep her breathing
A heart
Overworked
Pounding too hard to keep her okay
She has seen too much
Dark wet endless eyes
She flits in and out of this sagging skeleton
I don’t know where she goes
The loneliness aches
The floaty loneliness of the rosy-cheeked ghosts and their echoey laughs
Where does she go
The bones and the in-between girl
The oldest, softest bones
The softest, oldest girl
They’re tired, those two
Tired of waking up every day and pretending they’re okay
Tired of putting on a smile amidst raging denial and
Tired of false relief and
Tired of fighting the grief and
Tired of doing it all alone
Do not
Leave me alone
If I ask you to stay
Let me mourn me
The me who lived for twenty two years and seven months and twelve days
Let me fumble with the growing pains
Of newpersonhood
Let me heal
Without co-opting my struggle as your next agenda
Without ignoring that I am strong and smart and beautiful and talented and kind and raw
In spite of
And not because of
What I’ve been through
And how I’ve managed
I know you may just be trying to help
I don’t mean to be rude
But I’ve spent too long letting other people feel that their healing, that their positive experiences can come at the sake of mine
I know
It’s confusing
What to do
I know
It’s confusing
But also
It’s not
Listen to me
Respect me
Trust me
Be there
If you love me
If you have any love for me
If you think you could love me
If you have ever loved me
Be around
Let me be around for you
Let me love you
Listen
Care and then ask and then listen
I may be a victim
But I am not your victim
