“Hello, this is ___, ” says I
silence is my reply, a breath
“Hello, how can I help you. ”
an annoyed voice on the telephone.
“Hello? ” she says impatiently
maybe I shouldn’t –
“Urm is it-“
“Is what? ” she interjects.
is it really? – maybe it’s nothing
(that’s what they want you to believe)
is it really? – maybe it’s in your head
(your head apparently has brought you here , the thought of that is worrying enough)
“Is it – “
“I’m sorry can I know if – “
“Is it -sexual abuse-
ifsomeonetouchesmedownthere?” I blurt out, a crack in my voice
deceiving me towards the end.
pin drop silence.
“Did you and your boyfriend have a little fight last night, sweetie?”
I am almost in tears. I knew this was a mistake confiding in someone.
This is the moment that hides you away in the bathroom,
Trying not to see the water droplets on the mirror-
“When did this happen? ” she asked in a manner and tone so cavalier,
that it made it seem like it did not deserve an answer.
What we all should know,
we were taught to question.
It is the status quo
that survivors will scream,
but no one should listen.
There are mirrors that change your body,
Filters and lenses that change your face,
but none of them as strong as
the one that turns / it is / into / is it /
“why didn’t you close your legs?”
“these girls go looking for trouble”
“what were you wearing?”
“false report probably”
“we must protect men from false accusations”
“why did you drink?”
“why were you walking?”