This is a poem to repulse and anger, to convey the brutality and indignity of rape, but what should shock you readers, is that the scariest thing about rape is not its violence, but its commonality. Rape and sexual assault must not be a shared experience.
My record of service is scarred yet I return to the front.
45% ready for service. Mutilated at 17. Maimed at 18. Discharged at 19.
Rotting away on leave.
Once nearly raped, twice, three times a lady.
Words written by birds. Who peck and scratch at the surface but flee when they see raw bone.
Skin ripped away in the morning, blood stains by midday, wounds gouged in the night.
My flesh will die and you will lick the corpse. More fool you, to feast on flesh marked by you, Putrefying in your nostrils,
Don’t touch me, I’m Rotten.
But you didn’t listen the first time.