"Rape Poem To End All Rape Poems" by Rutgers University [lyrics]

"Rape Poem To End All Rape Poems" by Rutgers University

We were I his room, after the party, 
lights dim, 
a few drinks in 
and then everything was warm and smoothed over, 
then this moment quickly punctured by supposedly sweet whispers that felt like barbed wire. 
Trust me. 
Oh come on. 
Don't you love me. 
His hands pushed me back. 

WARNING: it's that time again, time for another rape poem. 

The audience sighs, just back on their seats. 

Oh boy. 

You say, these bitches are about to go on. 

On about the rape and pain. 

And no. I said no. He didn't listen. 

And you ask why another rape poem. 

Didn't I just hear like three of these? 

Yeah. You probably did. 

I'm surprised in a country where someone is sexually assaulted every two minutes. 

But surprisingly these people get shit for telling their stories. 

They are all lumped into one category. 

"Rape poems". 

As if trauma is a trope, pianation a cleishay, 

all while you sit back 

and ask why so many damn rape poems. 

We wouldn't need so many damn rape poems if America had listened the first time! 

These poems are our prayers to beat the fucking odds in this country. 

Of apple  pie and roofies , 

We wouldn't need so many damn rape poems if our bodies were OURS alone! 

We wouldn't need so many damn rape poems if everyone knew what NO means. 

We wouldn't need so many damn rape poems if Budweiser stopped selling our bodies stretched across a six pack. 

And maybe we wouldn't need to write so many damn rape poems 

if everyone would listen to this one! 

But it seems to us that this lessons have yet to be learned. 

Don't tell me she was sober enough to make a decision. 

Don't tell me she was asking for it. 

Don't tell me to pity him for making him face consequences. 

Do you complain about another rape poem? 

As is this all part of a culture? 

Rape poems will continue. 

Until I can wear whatever the heck I want without being called a slut.  

Until I can trust my drink with somebody when I need to use the bathroom. 

Until I can walk alone on the dark streets and no be a cat call. 

Whose you daddy? 

Get back over here! 

Damn look at that ass! 

Until I can wear heels without being asked who I'm trying to impress. 

Until my coin speaks louder than my outfit. 

Until I'm not expected to carry pepper spray on my key chain. 

Until No really means NO! 

Until rape means crime!  

Until woman means human! 

The rape poems will continue until there is no damn material left. 

An open letter to God from an atheist/ Lindsey Michelle [lyrics]

     Open the eyes of my heart Lord 

I used to reach up my small hands on Sunday service searched no for God

     Open the eyes of my heart 

Thinking that my small hands must just need to try harder stretch further to feel him 

I would force my fingers out the dry skin between that would begin to crack 

but still I was singing 

     I want to see you 

I was searching for God and clenching my eyes

I was crying while singing over and over again 

     I want to see you 

Trying to press my heart into his hands and touch him 

and all of it while wondering what was wrong with my hands 

I went to Christian camp for five summers searching for God 

and not once did he leave with me. 

Try to be with me when I packed up my bags and went home.

I sit there singing bible songs around the campfire trying so hard to grab a whole bread 

like hell was frustration and empty spaces 

but I kept trying because every summer that I went to camp 

I swore that I can almost taste it 

like this sweet tip of the tongue sensation 

so I closed my eyes and chased it but time after time it faded. 

I pray to a God that I never found for patients. 

How has every other person here managed to find this 

why am I the misfit in this situation 

when I'm trying 

I'm trying so hard. 

I'm crying 

since I was seven I've been singing 

     Open the eyes of my heart lord 

The top of my fingertips without any answer. 

Why haven't he responded to me. 

Answering machine after answering machine 

I'm beginning to think that maybe he doesn't give a shit. 

God you are the almighty hypocrite. 

Your own book promised 

seek and you shall find me. 

Knock and the door will be open 

Dear god 

if you are there then take your on the waiting list off the shelf and turn that page, 

that no takes every time that I got lost looking for you. 

Every time that my hands found none reaching for you. 

Can you even tell me how many talents are net to the phrase 

she stood on your doorstep shivering. 

Do you remember that my knuckles were bloodying from knocking so long?

Love in a time of desperation/ John Ratz [lyrics]

The body can decide to stop living in stages 
the slow death is the body whispering a quiet no no no 
until some vital part refuses to keep working 
some important piece of you does not consent to being alive anymore. 

The way I understand my sister's disease is that it attacks everything at once. 

I could write a list of symptoms but these days 

it looks like something turning off all of the lights inside her.

She's 23 and cannot see. 

She's 23 and cannot walk, cannot think. 

She's 23 and already looks like an abandoned building. 

So much of her has already decided to stop working. 

We live in a time of miracles. 

Medicine is the science of forcing your body to live wether it wants to or not. 

It is forcing you the body to bow down to you the mind. 

Because the brain is the only organ is afraid of dying. 

But I told you my sister's disease attacks everything including the delicate network of neurons and synapses that makes her a person and the slow collapse of her body losing its ability to function 

My big sister can't even decide wether living is worth it anymore. 

Once she lost a lot of weight, 

her jaw refused to work right. 

More food ended up down the front of her shirt that in her mouth. 

Her body weather hunched itself into a claw and for the first time in our lives there was less of her than there was of me.

My parents took her to the hospital and she came home a week later with a tube in her stomach. 

She eats from a bag now. 

No swallowing involve, 

just a slow mechanical work the pump forcing paste directly into her stomach 

we force feed her 

and I have to believe that this is an act of love in a time of desperation. 

There was no discussion of allowing this to be the end. 

My mother says the GTube was the first time it felt like betraying my sister's body in order to keep her alive 

and Christine didn't even get a saying in it. 

Sometimes I imagine she stopped eating on purpose. 

When she could speak she said the seizures felt like God  

stabbing a knife into her brain and twisting 

and I have to wonder if anyone ever really wants to be rescue back from an agony like that. 

Sometimes I love her so much I wish we could let her die. 

Someday another important part of my sister's body will stop functioning. 

I imagine a thousand nightmares for some terrible accident claims my parents 

and I hold her life in my hands and there's no way I would let her die. 

But I wonder how far I would go to force her to live 

and wether that is love or the stubborn pride insisting that as long as 

I can force her heart to keep beating I'll never have to say goodbye.