A Poem to My Rapist – Part 1

There’s nothing poetic about what he did to me, but what else could express these disturbed memories? When I started writing an account of what happened 13 years after the first rape, I found it easier to express my experiences in poetry. Writing my account followed later.

Your Perfect Victim

My blows to your head were nothing

My screams of “No!” unheeded

My panic and fear aphrodisiac

To the warped enjoyment you needed


Wrestling and jostling a futile attempt

Opposed to your strange strong vice

Pinned me down and did your worst

My severed soul paid the price


“A Rapist?” you laughed, like I’d told you a joke

What, me? This affable, charming bloke?

I’ll wreck your career if you tell

Better not bruise, better not yell


Yet how many more times has this been your pleasure?

The weight of my guilt lies heavy

Abuse of power, control and force

Potential victims a plenty


Cruel, vile and oddly perverted

Eroding my body and soul

Poisonous insult that sucked out my spirit

Till I was no longer whole


Your smirking, sadistic face as you realised

In your defence I gave you, my cheating skin

No bruising meant no evidence

Once again, your perfect victim


Cold, heartless, vile friend

You disgraced yourself not me

Your declarations of love were empty

Commendable only for depravity


Abuse, stalking and rape

Crimes perverted and filthy

Evidence or not, I have truth on my side

And you’re guilty, guilty, guilty!

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