How to Educate People on the Reality of Rape

There’s something about a perfectly crafted song or poem that moves the human spirit beyond words. Such a poem is this one.

Titled, ‘Piñatas’, this epic poem is one that addresses the horrendous sin of rape. Forget what you know of high school poetry and Robert Frost. This poem quickly gets to the heart of the issue and it packs a punch.

While rape dialogue is sometimes considered socially acceptable as a topic for light-hearted humor, Pages Matam puts this ugly crime into proper perspective and assures everyone that it’s never okay to joke about rape.

To the man on the bus I overheard in conversation tell a woman, presumably a friend.. “You are too ugly to be raped.”

Dear man on the bus, tell the one in five women of this country that they are beautiful, their four counterparts spared torment ugly.

Tell the one in three women of this world that you will not make pinatas of their bodies, watch morsels of them spill greedily to the famished smiles of your ignorance, shaped like blood-thirsty children.

How your words hit repeatedly, until they broke open like a shattered paper-mache cradle. Their blood, flowed like candy until hollowed inside – their jaws, mangled into a misfortune from when they tried to scream – for their legs, torn into a crucifix, their loud cry of eyes muted – tell them how beautiful their silence is.

Dear man on the bus..

From smothering cat calls to a quickened pace of trek home – rape with a dress on, rape without a dress on, raped as children who couldn’t even dress themselves. Tell them how ugly their consent was. Tell the depession, the unreported. Tell Mahmudiyah, a footnote in crimson Iraqi sands, how beautiful the military silence is, and how we don’t ask and they didn’t tell in the name of country.

Tell Elizabeth Fritzl how pretty the flame of her skin was that turned her father into a torturous moth of incest until she gave birth to seven choices that she never had.

Dear man on the bus..

Tell my eleventh grade student, Lauren, that she wanted it – her beauty had them coming. Tell my seventh grade student, Mikala, that she wanted it – her beauty had him coming. Tell my third grade student, Andre, that he wanted it – his beauty had him coming.

Tell the eight-year old me that the God in me I loved fiercely, was so gorgeous that cousin twice my age wanted to molest the Holy out of me, peeled raw, until I was as ugly as she was.

Rape is a coward that hides it’s face in the makeup of silence of murderous fruit that grows best in the shadows of taboo; a vietnam prostitute, whose red, white and blue skin – a murmur of bodies left vacant by the souls that’s spend years and years and pills and pills and poems and poems and poems and even death, trying to learn how to reclaim them.

Dear nameless assailant..

This bus carries the burden of your stick and blindfold patriarchy, heavy on your tongue – on your tongue. Your words are like a monstrous, accomplished thorn up from your throat to the 97% that would never see a jail.

Dear man on the bus..

As these words fall out of your mouth, I pray that no one ever finds your children beautiful enough to break open and make a silent decorative spectacle out of them.

Pages MatamTo follow equally great works of poetry crafted by the brilliant Pages Matam, visit his facebook page.

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