Loathing From The Hymen (Spoken Word Poem)

It took me a very long time to write this poem. And I have to say that this is the first time I’ve written something this incredibly bold. I decided to write it as a spoken word piece. There were a lot of deep emotions running through me as I was writing this. Although it does not speak from personal experience, it is something that is an issue among women — many women — around the world, regardless of race, class, culture, or religion. And I wanted to try to serve as a voice for those women who are abused and raped, countlessly. Women, who are raped, and then blamed for it, not only by men but by fellow women as well. And as much as this fact depresses me, it is what it is: A fact. It is a very, very sad reality that probably won’t go away anytime soon.

Oh, and I plan to present this piece at a festival in the summer, that I plan to participate in.

***

Loathing From The Hymen

There is a rumbling deep inside me
I feel it closing in, penetrating my insides,
As I lie in a fountain of dark blood —
My blood…
It oozes from my vagina
Please make it stop,
For I cannot take it anymore —
This resistance!
It hurts; oh, how much it hurts!
But, my desperate cries fall upon deaf ears,
Oh, why can’t they see that I am not wrong?
For wrong is not my name!
Yet, they call me a curse —
The lurer of men!

I am the history of shame,
I am the history of disowning who I am,
I am the history of the terrorized incarceration of
myself,
I am the history of all that makes me a woman…

Whether it is the sanctity of my virginity
Or the sanctity of my cultural boundaries
Or the sanctity of each and every desire…
I am loathed,
Simply for the crime of being a woman!
And my precious hymen carries with it a price –
A price that shall cost me my pride, my honour,
And even my own life!
O’ who am I to be?
But a flesh of meat to be feasted upon
Devoured, only to disappear
Into the shadowy depths of obscurity,
I’ve become a shadow of myself,
I have become the meaning of rape,
I have become the problem!

I am the history of repression,
I am the history of rejecting who I am,
I am the history of the threatened incarceration of
myself,
I am the history of all that makes me a woman…

They detest my rebellion,
For they wish me to become their puppet;
They turn me this way and that way,
Shamelessly lusting after my tainted body,
And call me a whore!
They spit on me and blame me
For exciting them!
And my crime?
My womanhood —
My essence,
My identity,
My pride —
And the loathing from my hymen
Has finally come to an end;
For I am broken.

© May, 2011

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