I remember writing this poem. I read a poem, written by a popular young female poet out of New York, at the time. She had written in a state of rage, about her experience being raped. Instead of the poem giving me hope, I felt the scenes of my own rape incidents flashing before my very eyes. It was painful to recapture moments that I had chosen to overcome. Some thoughts and feelings were buried, but mostly I was thrown back into the space where I hadn’t felt any more than a victim. Please now read my poem about rape.

BRAIN-STORM

I was sleeping last night when a pulsating-slimy-message/massage of tissue overwhelmed the lips of my vagina- creating the illusion of this… this…it again.

I’ve tried to let it go. A blink of an eye since it’s pain.

I thought I had reached a comfort zone, a remission point.

Attached…