The song of rape

It took one finger to break into her

one finger to make her feel violated and dirty

two to make her scream

the boys laughed afterward mockingly

why you so upset girl? we didn’t deflower you

you should thank us bitch

or maybe we should just do what we came here to do

they pinned her down, her tights stretched between her legs

like her fractured hymen

she saw the beginning of tears and inside felt

the raw and hurt center cry out

don’t come back don’t ever come back

they were only eleven years old

lying on the floor in the outside toilets

staring at the stars hardly there because of all the smog

her lungs filled with hurt

they were her friends

until they became rabid dogs

she didn’t know what switched the switch or why

they felt she was there to poke and prod

they were too small and she was too small and everything about it

was premature

which meant

waiting until it happened again

she wasn’t a victim but some things reoccur

as if on some awful cycle

sometimes she’d shudder thinking about

their little hard cocks

trying to pry their way in

the way it felt to be hurt like that

with unwashed fingers scrabbling and opening

the parts of her nobody should

she could visualize the cement beneath her

the smell of urinals and their unwashed genitals

if they had known enough to put them in her mouth

they would have

thankful for small mercies she knew

kids these days wouldn’t be so innocent

they see porn before they know how to spell


what ideas they must get and how

many bad things go on behind closed doors

or even ones held shut by little boys

seeking to immitate older brothers

she would have impaled them with

her rage if she wasn’t so ashamed

so she said absolutely nothing to anyone

least of all the teachers who would have

called her a slut who asked for it

even at eleven years old.


When she reached fourteen

the Golem returned

held her down, muffled her mouth

stuck it in like a needle threading through skin

her scream pierced every limb

and nobody heard

nobody wondered why

she wasn’t home for dinner

her plate was left in the fridge

she was emptied of the last piece

of her soul

left gasping where her privacy had been

legs spread and men hustling in

one after the other took their turn

after all wasn’t it a party? Make it count!

her face closed off and remote like she was dead

some of them were small and bony

their penises hardly large enough to feel

between the soreness and the swelling

others bore into her like a metalic truck

thrusting her back onto her thin tail bone

hands around her neck

fingers pinching her nipples and breasts

they filled her with a disgusting smell

she was never going to be whole again

or clean

and when it was over, it had just begun

face after face, cock after cock

a tape on repeat of her worst nightmare

they came, they came and they went

the only evidence there staining the bed

and her rubbery legs unable to flee

tied and sodomized like a string of beads

she flew out of her crumpled body

a bird of wing and feather only

she saw someone she almost recognized

torn and ribboned and splayed

a garish doll, a parody, a destroyed shape

someone she was no longer

as she lifted, higher and higher, beyond that point

no pain anymore just the thick blush of shame

hidden in plumage

she felt nothing but

a choking word on her tongue




her child’s form

her hardly grown self

the silence of nothing

then it did not matter

what time she wasn’t coming home

all the world was quiet now

movement had stilled

the door was shut

nobody knocked

nobody unbuttoned their pants

and sank to their knees

lifting her up for one more final

free fuck

as if she were no more than a hole

not a human

not a worthy soul

immitation the greatest form of flattery

is not

she was cold now to the touch

her spirit somewhere in the stars

it took one finger to break into her

and a record set on repeat playing

over and over until it scratched

and could not play


the song of rape.

For all the survivors whose voices are quashed.

90 thoughts on “The song of rape

  1. Awful, and heartbreaking, to read these words, but they are so powerful, I couldn’t not read them. Amazing, as always. 😊😊

  2. This was hard to read but brilliant too. You have written very candidly about something very difficult; but I feel reassured I’m not alone πŸ’›πŸ’•πŸ’— Thank you xx

  3. Thank you lovely. It’s not autobiographical. But it’s a story too often experienced. My desire for that to change caused me to write it even though I wasn’t sure how it would be received. Thank you πŸ’“

  4. You are welcome sweet candy
    I just wrote about my personal experience it wasn’t easy I don’t like to say it out loud but to heal I can’t hold it in

  5. As always, you weave a lifetime of hurt in so few words.
    they were her friends
    until they became rabid dogs
    she didn’t know what switched the switch or why

    so fully insightful.

  6. Let no one say “Too Graphic” “Too clear a picture” Let them not cover their eyes, their ears from this truth. Let them know the full horror so excellently told. By whatever they may hold holy, let them learn.

  7. Painful. Awful. I wish it wasn’t needed. I wish it were something foreign to existence. I can’t like this, but you always have my support.

  8. This was heartbreaking to read, but it was necessary to read it all…and to comment, to let you know how much I admire your strength. I hope that writing it down helps to heal your heart. ❀

  9. Thank you very much. It wasn’t my story but an amalgamation to speak for all victims and survivors. I really appreciate you reading this and I think by standing up for justice we all bring the chance of change πŸ’“ thank you so much

  10. I agree. By writing the truths, whether they’re our own or that of others, we can hopefully make a change in society and let all victims and survivors feel less alone or isolated.

  11. Thank you for your courage to give a glimpse into a part of us that is always seething just beneath the skin. I once served in a country torn by genocidal war where women and young girls were raped repeatedly until some chose death by any means. Children were sold in great numbers to the world sex trade. It was barely mentioned. But here, through the victims eyes, we glimpse the horror unfold and cannot look away or deny.

  12. Even though I just couldn’t read it all (felt a cold blade running down my spine) …. I really wanted to as I enjoy your writing!

  13. That was so moving and heartbreaking. There are a lot of girls out there who have gone through something like this but never spoke about it to anyone. This unfortunate reality is really awful.

  14. Thanks. I’ve looked into more than one set of eyes that spoke the damage done that voices did not know how to utter. You speak for many, so very many. ❀

  15. Oh my god, Candace…. this is gripping and powerful. Difficult and painful but oh so necessary. You are amazing. ❀️

  16. This was a painful read but one that is very necessary. Thank you for speaking on behalf of all the victims out there. You have a way with words, my dear. ❀

  17. This is so graphic. Your words weave in many wefts – mystical magic; soft sensuality ; and so much more. This ? This is the silent scream given voice.

  18. Harrowing to read – pressing ‘like’ seemed so wrong. Powerful and disturbing this must have drained you to write it. I have no more words.

  19. Growing up over the years, I made lots of friends who were women. I sadly heard sooo many stories from them that they only told a few close friends regarding their interactions with men (boys). It broke my heart to hear their stories. I imagined them changed in that very instant (or instants) from the little girl or young woman they had been. From the happier one and the more confident one…. to the more guarded, the more distrustful, to angrier one. I felt they had lost a piece of their spirit inside them because of it and that they desperately wanted it back in least some small way or to simply reset the world in themselves, to see it as more innocent and deserving as they once did. I could only give them my words, my empathy, my time, my laugh, my smile, my love as a friend to show them that the world in part is a good place with good people and love still exists.

    you are “love” sister in so many ways…. you heal with words and passionate compassion….

  20. You’re so right P, it astounds me how many experience this, we say 1-7 but it’s WAY more than that, more like who hasn’t been? And that just … takes my breath away. You are the kind of brother who all women should have and be able to confide in. Love does still exist!

  21. Don’t be. Not all men are rapists. Those that are should be ashamed. But it’s not a purely gender thing, whilst most rapists are men, there are females who enable them or abuse people also. It’s the act not the gender that should feel shame – other men who are innocent of ever doing something like this should be angry at the men who do it, because they make the rest look bad when they’ve done nothing wrong xo

  22. It is graphic sorry! I just felt there was no other way for the sake of what I was trying to convey. xo PS you used one of my favorite words (weft) gorgeous word

  23. Thank you very much your response really means a lot to me, to know I have achieved a voice for others, really is what I intended. Thank you again very much.

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