Brialee Turner

Words, burned.
Branded into me
like a tattoo,
of my heart,
saying you are an object,
a piece of “my” property,
that I can shred to
pieces because I have
patriarchal anatomy,
and since birth I was taught to
lead and manipulate and
lie to you.

“He” says,

***Don’t report it, that will change nothing.
Your purity is what makes you worthy.
Get in my car. RIGHT NOW!
Come to my bathroom.
Touch me here.
Why is this such a big deal to you?
Stop being so afraid.
If you had done “xyz” differently, this wouldn’t have happened to you.***

And he says that “it’s my fault”.