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<a href=https://twitter.com/rmayemsinger><em>Courtesy of Randi Mayem Singer</em></a>

Poetry

Good Girls

I wrote this poem as quick as one breathes. Having lived in Spain for a few months, I realized I am always searching, unconsciously, for someone with whom I can go back home at night. My parents always tell me to text them once I am in my room, no matter the hour. I know they care about me, but I feel this itchiness inside of me, why? Why does it itch? What is it that itches me? Sometimes I come up with excuses not to go out, because I know that by the time I will want to go back, no one will want to come along, and I am scared of going by myself. In the city where I am studying, back home, my friend and I were followed by someone who threatened to push us in front of a car. During one night, at 2 a.m., I thought I heard someone at my door. Here, in Spain, I felt as if people were following me, twice. I know people who have been sexually assaulted. I have my experiences, too. All of this had to come out, and it did.

This poem is written in solidarity with everyone who has gone through something like this and dedicated especially to all the women out there who are fighting for their rights and their place in this society. The rise of women does not equal the fall of men, remember.

Here I go.

one Saturday night, while lying in bed

I realized I have never been this scared

it might not have been me, not yet, not all the way —

but it was her, it was them, right on that alley

it was a friend, a sister, a mum, a small brunette

green eyes, blue eyes — not important; small skirt, only said in the gazette

with small letters, a small voice read it on the way to work

“see? this happens to those who stay too much in the park,”

a mum warns her children, a dad looks his daughter in the eye

“you will never, under any circumstances, disobey

you will do as I say. be home by nine o’clock,

eat dinner, clean the dishes, do your homework

red is for sluts, wear something white.

{it hurt like a flea bite}

be a good girl.

be a good girl.”

we were taught fear comes natural, as one breathes

better safe than sorry, oh, how it rhymes

but I was safe, we were all safe, were we not?

we were only hanging out

with our friends, whom we trusted, who held our hands

when we went to the beach at night, right in the midlands

of a rotten relationship — he was not sincere enough,

one friend would say, covering her wrist with a huff

he was very kind, he bought me wine, and he stayed by me

but he said “come on, baby” too many times, while pressing his pelvis into me

“you liked it, don’t lie, I heard he is very good”

“I guess so… maybe… yeah, you could call him ruby wood”

we trusted people, maybe we were too naive

luckily enough, we were wearing the right clothes to grieve

that came natural too, like everything else,

except for the pain felt in the bowels

of the stomach, as if life itself

took a knife, aimed and stabbed herself

in the centre of the square, when the sunlight hit her head at ninety, at noon

to make her learn a lesson she had to know, since she was in a cocoon.

her parents, how could she tell them? they will surely tear her apart

“no, I cannot tell this story again from the start.”

she realized she had no escape

nowhere to run, it felt like a tape

she wanted to rewind, her hand got stuck inside

poor Bonnie, without her Clyde.

she sat down. pressing the knees at her chest,

waves of shame washed her over, just like another incest.

It’s over for me. “quick, get me my coat,”

she yelled at the butler across the road, acid burns in her throat

she picked up the phone and dialed a number she memorized

long before any man could make her feel mesmerized.

the client cannot be reached. Would you like to come back?

“no, that will not be the case,” she said with a crack.

then she cracked open, on the stairs,

The media came to report the state of affairs.

(((Hold on, what do you mean,

I’m not stuck in a dream)))

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21 years-old. Passionate about music& literature. In love with the sea. I write as I go, about people, for people, in the name of the things I believe in.

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