My school was fairly progressive
They even taught contraception in our sex-ed class
When I was 14, my dad handed me a box of condoms and said,“You know how to use these right?”
We were taught which preventive methods were the most effective
I was in Texas, so Dad’s with shotguns
And where to go if something broke, what to take, how to fix this mess you’ve gotten yourself in
We were taught about herpes and gonorrhea and Syphilis and how to keep all your fluids to yourself
My friends taught me which clinics wouldn’t tell my parents
Which ones handed out free condoms
But I was never taught that there were worse things that could happen than a baby or a disease
Yeah, we learnt about roofies
We learnt how to respect when a woman says ‘No’
We learnt about protecting your drink, carrying a pepper spray
We learnt what to do when a woman is assaulted
But not that this could happen to me.
I was a virgin when I was raped for the first time
When it happened to me it was 10 A.M. and my parents were home
My textbook hadn’t described the way I wouldn’t even try to fight
There was no paragraph on how to stop him/her without making a scene
There was no worksheet for how to stop him without waking up my sleeping parents
There was no correct answer to her threats of suicides when I wasn’t in the mood
There was no manual for the polite victim
You know, it wasn’t like they said it would be
I was sober, he was sober
We were seventeen/fifteen
They didn’t teach me that I wouldn’t know how to protect myself
That my lungs would close up and we would make pretend husband and wife
Make pretend love
The thing about pretend, is that it flattens everything to one colour
It makes it too simple
It makes it one syllable and that syllable is always captioned as a ‘Yes’
They didn’t teach me that I could wanna be with someone but not always want them, that being curious about sex doesn’t mean I was asking for it.
What I learned was I was supposed to want it
I was supposed to feel stolen, supposed to feel like less of a human being
I learnt that if you don’t scream, no one will listen to you
They don’t write about the ones that got away
I learnt that foundation comes in fourteen different shades
No one wants to hear your skin is changing colours
They only ask how you’re doing to hear you say ‘Fine’
I learnt that I was supposed to feel fine, We were lovers after all
And with a love like that, you hardly have to ask right?
I don’t want to blame my school
I don’t want to blame her
I don’t want to blame my church, or my mother or even the boy
We were just children
But this is preventable, so someone must be responsible for preventing it
We can teach this better
Some paintings are built from a thousand points of colour
If you stand too close, the sunset becomes just a series of red dots
We teach that rape is always a man in an alley
Always a clenched jaw and a closed fist
Always a stained white shirt
But I never used my pepper spray
I never had to worry about an uncle or a locker room
Do not confuse one story for all stories
Do not stare at a red dot and say, “The Whole painting is just one colour.”
Neil Hilborn, “This is Not the End of the World”. I thank the angel who introduced me to this poet. This is a poem of self-isolation, or the need to withdraw from the world. Hilborn not only articulates the world of depression and loneliness, but also offers us a way of understanding the self in this place.
I’ve been hearing that the world is ending.
I’ve heard it SO much these days I can either completely ignore it or never leave my house again,
that is if I actually left my house for things that don’t directly enable me to keep my house,
I’ve been thinking about… driving nowhere.
I’ve been thinking about becoming a box inside a locked room inside a dark house at the dark end of the street.
I want to go away until I’m gone
it takes so much less energy to not exist than it does to exist and get burned.
I’ve been burned so much i’m not me anymore,
I’m a stupid puppet version of me
I’ve got strings that lead to nowhere,
nothing is pulling on me
I wish someone would drag my hand out of hiding and sign my name on a dotted line
There are days that I cannot find the sun even though its right outside my goddamn window.
when getting out of bed feels like the key in the doomsday machine,
so on those days… this is what I tell myself:
Whatever you’re feeling right now there is a mathematical certainty that someone else is feeling that exact thing.
This is not to say you’re not special
this is to say thank god you aren’t special
I have kissed no one good night
I have launched myself from tall places and hoped no one would catch me.
I have ended relationships because suddenly I was also exposed, but
Isolation is not safety, it is death.
If no one knows you’re alive, you aren’t.
If a tree falls in a forest and no one’s around to hear it, it does make a sound but then that sound is gone.
I’m not saying you will find the meaning of life in other people,
Im saying other people are the life to which you provide the meaning,
see… we’re wrong when we say
I think therefore I am.
The more we say it the more it sounds like
I think therefore I will be.
You cannot think yourself into a full table
You cannot think and make walls and a roof appear around you
I have thought
and thought myself into corners made of words and nightmares
and what has it gotten me,
but more thoughts…
a currency that only buys more currency,
if you want to continue existing… do something
learn to make clouds using only your breath
build a house even if every wall leans to the left
love it anyway
just like a season
just like a child
love how you hate yourself sometimes because least there’s still something to hate
I know how easy it is to think and keep thinking until you’re the last person left on earth
until the entire world becomes no larger than the space between your bed and the light switch
I hear the world is ending soon.
when we go, and we’re all going to go
I will be… part of it.