Tag Archives: rape

Lipstick Lips

hasty hands go their own ways when the time is wrong,
but parted lipstick lips don’t know what to do with themselves.
hanging on to the lingering tangy taste,
the pinks blend back into one another
as they collide.
they push against each other until the pinks turn red,
the reds turn blue,
and the blues turn black.

they can’t take it and break free of each other.
the endless hole in between expands
exposing the crimson bell hanging by a seamless thread.
white as snow,
pearly pearls unlatch behind velvet curtains showing
the ringing bell hidden in the small gap.
frail was the pitch from the ringing red chime,
barely hit there by a whining metal mallet.

all power unleashed, all energy drained,
she has no more in her left to play the game.
she relents to his strength, the rough hands
that didn’t part.
her body collapsed right under his hard heart.

he left her with a silly smile smeared across his face
using the stains that her lipstick lips unwillingly made.
streaks of shame
streaming down her portrait portraying her emotions,
she got up out of the red paint her body had spilled.
the black was mixing
with the blue mixing
with the red.
the colors were spiraling out of her control,
out of proportion in a dimension she didn’t know.

the man invited her again but she was too sad to go.
the man shoved her again but she was too dead to move.
those colors were gone and all she had left were
the yellows
and the grays.

the yellows
and the grays
paved her long road
the one she’d have to walk lonely and alone.
her lipstick lips frowned,
in a shade of dusty silver,
out of sad sadness all too profound.

a boy with orange stepped on her road.
he saw her yellow, and the underlying gray.
he gave her his color and
her yellow became fiery so she painted another world,
a different world

the canvas was filled with heat
and so was her body
she stripped off her colors
to cool herself down.
the colors peeled off
first the layer of gray
then the layer of yellow-orange.

Underneath her colors,
was her skin, still stained with the
and red.

the smears, the stains, the streaks,
they never leave.
the bruises, the blood, the pain
never recede.

she took the colors hidden under her skin,
and painted yet another world with her lipstick lips open
this world had a rainbow at the very far left,
Red, Orange, Yellow, Gray, Blue, Black, White.

a rainbow with deformities,
a rainbow so unknown,
a rainbow unique with complexities,
a rainbow all her own.



“I think I’ll stop wearing V-Necks,” I said.

And then I caught myself. I was being a hypocrite. I always believed that women shouldn’t put the blame on themselves for men’s wandering eyes and lack of self-control, yet here I was feeling ashamed of myself for accidentally exposing a little extra skin when my true crime was almost deciding to never wear any of my favorite shirts again.

Some men may think that telling a girl that she turns him on because of her appearance or the way she is dressed is a positive thing, a compliment. Maybe that was their intent, but the way it is received, the outcome, matters much more than the intention. When a man rapes a woman and says that he didn’t intend to traumatize her, does that make it okay? I’m willing to guess your answer is no. So why would it be okay for a man  to make a girl feel harassed and uncomfortable–yes, it makes us uncomfortable, not confident–in her own skin, her own favorite shirt, with what he intended as a “compliment”? It is not okay.

To anyone that has ever spoken, please think before you speak. Your words, intended compliment or not, lighthearted joke or not, can create long-lasting insecurities and negatively affect the mentality of the people around you. You may think your one comment does not mean much but it does; even if it doesn’t mean anything that one time, remember that there are a lot of other people who think what they say once doesn’t matter. Imagine how one comment from each person who doesn’t think twice can eventually build up into hundreds, causing perfectly fine people to become utterly self-conscious. No one should be made to feel that way, and absolutely no one needs to change their lifestyle or their clothes for anyone.

“Don’t stop wearing V-Necks,” he said.

Okay. I won’t. But I don’t wear them for you, your pouting face, and your good-willed words. I won’t wear them to suit your preferences, to garner compliments. I will wear them for myself because I like the way they look on me, not the way you look down them.

No Escape

He scrutinized her every movement. Her body’s beauty was beyond anything he ever dreamed of.

She thought he couldn’t see her. She was almost out now, flying daintily across the dark stage of his delusion towards the tiny window–unlocked today–which spilled a thin stream of light into the empty room. Her one slim chance was right in front of her.

She reached up, her pale arm glowing in the afternoon light. Her fingers felt the cool glass, felt her freedom, causing her sickly face to flush, creating a temporary illusion of health.

Spellbound, he couldn’t wait a second longer. He took her in his arms, ignoring her terror. He knew she would appreciate him in the end. He embraced her and showed her what he could do for her, and proceeded to do just that.

When it was over, he took her out of the room, back to her cell and wrapped up his reddened bedspread with a satisfied, ear to ear grin plastered onto his face.

He walked outside to board the window.