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Before the reader embarks on reading these poems, the editors stress that some content may be found disturbing, troubling or even distressing. Sexual violence is an emotive subject, and some writing about rape is as exploitative as the crime itself. This protest is the beginning of a conversation that seeks recuperation, healing and redress. The introduction to our protest can be read here.

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Please refer to our list of International Resources for Rape Support here. No Traces Left Rajathi Salma, trans. Kalyan Raman There are objects everywhere in this room. This bed, which reminds me of pregnancy and fills me with fear, is the weapon my Master wields.

The electric fan, though, is tricky enough to keep me from fleeing this room in search of breeze. Taj— who peered too close while I sharpened my pencil, got her face gashed and wept— is suzannah dagenham escort of three now, and supplies milk.

This life—impossible to pursue, with a myriad of lifeless objects and one man— goes on regardless, inside the same room. He holds me on the couch beside him, the beds lofted far above us, the thump, thump of bass of passing cars, the overhead lights suddenly bright.

After that night, he erases me from his life, imagining that dark suzannah dagenham escort like a half-eaten apple, like a face laughing behind my eyes. It was never that, it was soft, the sound the breath makes when escaping. Letter to Myself Dawn Garisch My darling, the sun stood over your birth high noon, zenith tides, unwanted third.

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My dear child, embedded in one of many beds white, like rows of teeth, awake and hungry during long dormitory nights. Trapped inside a cubicle you walked into a book. Another took you out and raped you. My woman child, brewing miracles in the cauldron of your suzannah dagenham escort out of the dregs and husks of hunger. Your babies drank rich food their Buddha bodies turning warm to laughter. You spoil them your mother said. Your wolf hunger leapt up, snarling, at her neck. My lover woman, earth draped round you like a shroud, your snailfolds fouled three times your heart three times impaled.

I told them all how much I love you your husband Icarus said.

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You turned away and traveled far to find a different ending. My witch woman, rooting seed into the ground these three years, staking out a fresh bed under a moon sifting flourlight. Your belly gnaws and growls its pleasure at the coming harvest.

Even kings are sacrificed to soil your unearthed brother says. Let us feast on the round of each other. Myself: my life, deeply soiled, suzannah dagenham escort over; let my dances be windfall and my words fruit in windfall. Enough, I say, enough!

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Their chairs clash at an inadequate table. From the postgraduate student — her name written in silver around her neck — to the professor who has brought cakes out of her backpack — no-one is afraid to use words like contempt and coercion, or simply to shout for milk or sugar if that is what they suzannah dagenham escort.

This office is the opposite of a room with a low bed where a woman might be held down so long. I want to end with this office. I want to linger here all afternoon. Published in The Rialto. I enter into a quiet room, step closer to counterpoints caged by frames:.

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In the Dhlinza forest duikers dart across the path. Pause, nuzzle in a sunlight shard. And I ponder the possibility of homecoming from experience, to innocence. Suzannah dagenham escort displayed at the Avoncroft Museum of Historic Buildings in The message? Speak out on issues beyond our reach, We will haul you down beneath us, Deny your brain; speak only to your sex. And speak in terms so violent, so ferocious You cannot fail to hear how you are disregarded: How you are feared and hated. Open mouth means open legs. Quid pro quo. And we will drive you to silence; pile you with fear.

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Roughen up. Hidden in courageous anonymity. Spirits, phantoms. Well my balls are on my chest. Look on me! Daughter of the Morrigan, I feed on ghosts not fear them.

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And with each generation, from Eve to eternity, I grow stronger. So kick out my living womb.

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Dis-arm me, gag me And gang rape me with my severed limbs. Punch out my teeth to silence me And hundreds more will spring up in my place.

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I am the Hydra: many he, but one voice. I am a woman with an opinion. And I will be heard. I can no longer keep my face affixed with idle chatter: Nice day, Sargeant. And your diet, did you skip your carbs today?

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I need another colour rinse. My suzannah dagenham escort, like my roots, like my sixteen-week bump is starting to show. Published in the Mississippi Review. The Biological Fantasy of Weaponry The Treachery of Images II Theodoros Chitos Oscillatory processes give the impression of precision: all appropriate capabilities will be applied in a synchronised fashion. We have been invited to the inspection teams. t operations will ensure that an isolated population will be the founding stock of a new species.

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We have since been forced to adapt. We are using night vision to look at our reflection.

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We entertain the idea that we are noctilucent creatures. A silly fantasy In reality we are ghost channels: You can hear the bang only because we have already heard it ourselves. We contain noise: most days we are little more than wind tunnels.

It is only rarely that we fantasize about being a set of cheap barometers registering the existence of sound instead of measuring atmospheric pressure. When the liquid in the glass is filled with small stars, war of the words ensues. There is a ificant difference between mass extinction and background suzannah dagenham escort. The hard science of the struggle for existence collides with the activation of the immune reconstitution inflammatory syndrome. The vastness of space will permit memory loss without suffering a mortal blow to our survival.

Corroded wiring and a ringing doorbell: how can we be possibly hearing something that should not exist in the first place? A Girl Like That Michelle McGrane Corrective rape is a hate crime in which a person is raped because of their perceived sexual or gender orientation.

Two manly relatives decided to straighten her out once and for all, give her strong medicine down on her knees, the cheeky cunt had it coming. A girl like that, what did she expect? Shameful lesbian bitch brought dishonour to the family name, refused to come round to suzannah dagenham escort way of thinking. Published in Binders Suzannah dagenham escort of Womened. Sophie Mayer and Sarah Crewe. Drunk on lust, pumped up with blood, he stands broad on his plinth and howls for cunt. This is where we find the source: that first, primeval sin: he forced an opening, she let him in.

Later they wrote she asked for it — her pink, seductive flesh, the bruise and not the kiss. You ask who wrote those books: who do you think? Would you, with longing, spread your legs for thisbear more like him?

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It seems so far to fall. Must this man be the father of us all? A found poem.

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