unclean

Trigger warning for sexual violence.

This poem was originally written on October 20, 2025. It explores my experiences with the justice system. Unfortunately, while I did get my violator found guilty, the way I was treated by the system was highly inappropriate for a survivor of sexual violence.

unclean

they all tell me i am not dirty
that he never made me unclean
i hope i’ll heal by thirty
from all my wounds unseen

invisible pain coats my skin
it’s on my mind all the time
a courtroom triumph is barely a win
to undo my pain would be sublime

no one around me knows what it’s like 
for an attorney to tear you apart
and leave your wounds gaping, in spite
of the prior fixing of your heart

standing in the courtroom, scared
aghast, traumatized, and yet brave
thinking that the judge actually cared
about upholding justice, yet a slave
to guidelines written by a nation
that doesn’t care about its women
with rapists they’re patient
they can go out and harm again
while their victims are left vexed
with repeat offenders, the countries seem perplexed

“how did our lackluster standards allow this to happen again?”
it’s the standards set by a rapist friend
they pretend to care, but behind closed doors
they don’t give a fuck about victim’s wars

and here i am, utterly broken
by a system that raped me
even more than when he was stroking
his dirty cock inside me, i’m not clean

standing in a courtroom, being asked not to lie
knowing full well I’d never fucking try
asked what my clothes were 
and asked “are you a liar”
“are you sure you’re not making this all up”
“because he says that you are”

it takes a toll on a victim like me
because aren’t we supposed to be believed?
the injustice system caught me in its throes
but truly, i can blame it for all my woes

and so that’s why i call myself dirty
he spread his filth to me
maybe i’ll be clean by thirty
the grime is unseen to all but me