to raise awareness about the rampancy of sexual harassment and sexual assault, survivors of sexual violence are using #metoo to voice their ideas and experiences online. the hashtag has been trending for a few days, and the sheer volume of tweets and other social media posts is evidence that rape culture dominates modern sexual climate. it's been challenging for me to write something that sufficiently captures the experience of sexual violence in under 140 characters. therefore, i wanted to share a poem that i wrote about one instance of sexual assault i have experienced. to my fellow survivors out there, stay strong. you are loved.

holes

we’d hooked up before

I guess that's how I justified not reporting him for what he did to me

because to some extent, I wasn't sure if it was actually even as wrong as it felt

I could've stopped it if I wanted to, I rationalized

want me to fuck your ass? he said

no, I mumbled

sorry

I don't know why but I'm always saying sorry

as if not wanting to do anal was something to apologize for

no, I mumbled

he did it anyways

stop, I said, more serious this time

I was facing down on my stomach and he was on top of me

it hurt really bad

please finish, I pleaded, please just come

no, he said, you're going to take it until i'm done with you.

I told him to stop a few more times, but he didn't listen

after a while I realized my resistance only italicized the pain

so I stuffed my face into the pillow, clenched my teeth together, and took it

after he was done, he bit my leg, hard

I’d have a dark black bruise on my inner calf for the next four weeks.

when my friends asked how I got it, I didn't know what to say.

I was embarrassed.

I felt dirty in a way that couldn't be washed.

a week later he got suspended from school for plaigerism

the day he left I got a text

"sad I won't have your holes to use anymore"

I'd been reduced to holes

holes to be used and legs to be bruised

I was disgusted and I wanted to run away, not from a place, but from a feeling of being and being wrong and trapped and lost and used, but my body isn't something I can ever run away from.

that weekend I ran into an ex boyfriend at a party

he was drunk and sucking down smoke when I ran up to hug him

I hadn't seen him since he broke up with me over the phone that summer

I guess I was drunk too because I started kissing his cheek

what the fuck are you doing?

I was taken aback

sorry, I said, and half jokingly told him to stop attacking me

that's when he lost it

what the fuck, you're being so loud.

do you know what it's like to be accused of attacking a girl here?

if you’re a guy and a girl accuses you of attacking her, you're done.

he sounded right but I knew he was wrong

fuck you, I said and walked away, looking down at my knee-high socks to make sure the bruise was concealed.

I still have holes I guess

one for every man I'd let wrong me

but they’re inside me and no one can get to them

I think flowers grow out of them now.

they're beautiful because they're mine, and

no one uses my holes but me.

xo,

hannah