This poem is an ode to all of those affected by assault/abuse/misconduct. We are here for you. and we believe you. You and your experiences are valid.
Harvey Weinstein pulls out his anatomy as a gross display of dominance over an 11-year-old.
She laughs a nervous laugh.
I read somewhere that that is called coping.
Among women, it is called death sentence.
I’m sure the girl knows that she will never be in another movie again.
Courtney Love warns us to stay away from the Weinstein’s of the world.
We cannot differentiate which men are safe and which men are not.
Some of them look like us.
Some of them share blood with us.
How do you stay away from a man you have been conditioned to trust?
Uncles, and not just the blood kind either.
Sometimes the boogeyman isn’t the one who jumps out of the bushes, but the one who asks about your major, and leaves his hand on your lower back far too long.
Sometimes the boogeyman has really great taste in music and treats you like a princess.
Or takes you for ice cream.
Or cooks you dinner, and calls at a respectable hour.
Or teaches that class you really wanted to take and that you fought hard to get into.
Woody Allen defends Harvey Weinstein.
And all the women in the world shudder.
All the women in the world buy pepper spray.
All the women in the world clutch their purses tighter, tighten the straps on their backpacks.
Leave anything that is easily snatched at home.
Locate every exit possible before entering any edifice for a date.
In an alternate universe, there are no Harvey Weinstein’s.
No Woody Allen’s.
This is not that place.
Here, the damage has been done, and all there is left to do is rebuild.
Here, all the women will toast the marshmallows for the smores they will not eat with the fire from the burning corpse of their attacker.
Here, all the women learn how to live after death.
Here, all the women learn how to love after losing everything.
Here, all the women declare victory even in the face of defeat.