abuse & trauma

blog: cvnt

I want to talk for a minute about the word “cunt”. And sorry, yes, this will be a sweary post.

It’s a paradoxical word, at the same time acting as both what is arguably the most offensive swear word and as a word that is quintessentially and nostalgically Australian. “He’s a sick cunt!” is one of the highest compliments you can pay someone in some circles of Straya, and it works well as a placeholder – “that cunt of a thing” – or as a reminder to someone acting a bit dickish to “don’t be a cunt”. Women use it to describe their sex in a “take the power back” kind of way. Couples engaged in sex acts might consensually use the word in their play.

And that’s all fine. I’ve become somewhat desensitised to all of those uses, and then some. I’ve dropped a few C-bombs myself. But let me make one thing perfectly clear: if you are a man and you call a woman a cunt out of anger or because you are all up in your feels, THAT IS NOT OK. Not ever! That act of gender-based violence is a HUGE red flag to what else you might be capable of saying or doing in the heat of the moment.

If a man ever calls me a cunt and actually means it as an insult, he’s dead to me. If a man calls another woman a cunt in my hearing, rest assured he is going to cop an earful. If a man calls another woman a cunt while speaking to me, I am immediately done. There is no excuse for it.

Even without looking too deeply into all the misogynistic connotations of taking a beautiful and natural part of a woman’s body, the part that brings us pleasure and helps to create life, and turning it into something to be treated as dirty, shameful and something to be ridiculed and hated…

Even just looking at it in its simplest terms, men use that word to subjugate and instil fear in women, to put us beneath them, to reduce us to our genitals and oppress us. They use it when lashing out because we didn’t give them what they wanted or respond in a way they wanted us to. It’s a ‘little boy having a tantrum’ word, but we all know how destructive little boys can be when they are challenged with big feelings.

If you still don’t understand what I’m saying, take this as an invitation to do some reflection on the power of words in the arena of gender-based violence. And maybe, for some of you, an invitation to do better.

poem: parásitos

– TW: domestic violence

It starts with subtlety.

With questions like – “Why do you bother?”
and – “Why don’t you find something you’re actually good at?”
Or – “Leave it; I’m better at this kind of stuff anyway.”

And because I love you, I stay.

It continues with small, unsupportive acts,
designed to make stressful situations even more stressful.

It continues with subtle but insidious social isolation,
until you are my entire world.

It continues with holding me to one standard and yourself to another,
while somehow convincing my rational brain that that’s okay.

And because I love you, I don’t say anything.

Because I love you, my will becomes smaller and smaller
until there’s very little individuality left;
I have no more needs except the need to meet yours.

Because I love you, I buy into the lie
that this is the fairy tale I’ve been waiting for,
and that any cracks that appear are my job to fix.

My panic attacks, the chest pains, the hysteria and the sleepless nights,
they all go away when we’re happy…
(and we are happy, some of the time…
that makes all the bad stuff worth it, right?)

We spiral down, each rock bottom giving way to the next…

It ends with me ceasing to exist.

poem: objects in the rear view mirror

– TW: domestic violence

Every step I take leads me further away from you
Without a word you call to me
I look back, surprised to see that once so tall,
You are now so small within my view

Someone must have greased your palm
Because I’m stumbling
Tumbling, tripping, struggling
Slowly slipping from your grasp
Unable to hold me
Unable to control me
You have no choice but to let me pass

There was a time when I hated you
There was a time when I hated myself
There was a time when every man wore your face
And echoes of your presence could be felt in every place
And I hated everyone around me
Even though they were only trying to help

So much anger inside me, so much rage
I threw my own pity party, and –
Though I sent out invitations by the dozens –
No one came.

I took a look around the place where I was at
And found nothing… nothing
But a few dusty party hats
And a half eaten ice cream cake
Melting… melting
I stood with my feet planted firmly on the path
There was no right or left; no up or down
Just Forward and Back…
And I knew I could not stay
So I picked up my feet,
And placed one in front of the other

Now I’m headed for a better day
Because every step I take
Leads me further away from you
And although you were once so tall,
You are now so very small
Disappearing from my view

poem: confession manifesto

– TW: SA, addiction

Here is my confession – when I was seven
A little boy touched me in a place I didn’t like
No grownups did anything to stop it
And it was all my fault.

Here is my confession – when I was twelve,
I was angry and I didn’t understand why
My parents didn’t believe in counselling so they hit me
With a Bible instead and told me to shape up or they’d ship me out
And it was all my fault.

Here is my confession – when I was seventeen
My father said, “It’s my way or the highway.”
I put on my big girl shoes and lit out
To face the wide world on my own.

I partied and played out tired stereotypes of misspent youth –
I fell into a bottle and stayed there,
So damn drunk I couldn’t hold down a job
Or tell the man who gave me a ride home late one night
That No definitely does mean No.
I burned up opportunities and friendships
Like the cigarettes I lit to mark the sorrow on my skin
And it was all my fault.

In my 20’s I turned to confession,
Threw myself on the mercy of Jesus
And trusted his followers to be cut from the same cloth
But they chewed me up and spat me out
Like wolves in sheeps’ clothes
And it was all my fault.

Confession becomes my obsession,
I scribble poems and half-thoughts on notebook paper that I screw up and throw out
“Not Good Enough” becomes the motto emblazoned across my chest
As I watch other poets spittin it, hittin it as hard as I wanna do,
As I could do, if it weren’t for this damn block –
And the block is all my fault…

I’m stuck in this confession,
Without a priest to absolve me
Or a psychotherapist to resolve me
I’m a puzzle beyond solving
Fault lines crack and plates start to rub each other the wrong way
My skin gets compromised by a million different splinters all pushing to get in
And the –whoosh- of my soul, trying to get out…

But…
It is not my fault.
In fact, it was never my fault.
And for those of you who see a bit of yourself in my story,
It’s not your fault either.
It was never. your. fault.

We were the ones society was supposed to nurture
We were the ones who were supposed to grow up to greatness
The ones who carried the promise of the future in our tender hearts
Like the unopened petals of a sunset-yellow rose
We were the ones who were supposed to hope, to think to dream,
But we got crushed by the machine,
We opened our eyes too wide, when the light was still too bright to hide us.
And the lies they told pierced the unformed armour of our souls
But it was not our fault…

We were just too fucking fragile.

So I want to lift up this poem as an anthem
For anyone who was ever told they were not good enough
Not fast enough, not smart enough, not pretty enough
That they were simply not enough…

I want to burn away the lies and get to the real you
I want to replace the coals of shame with the fires of truth
I wanna lift up this poem as an anthem,
Because everyone knows coals
Are just diamonds
Waiting to happen.

poem: when I was a girl

When I was a girl,
I dreamed pink faery floss dreams
Now my world is ash
And cigarette smoke
Permeates the air

When I was a child
Unicorns danced on my bed;
Now they are replaced
By sweaty, sex-stained men
Who do not know the unicorns were ever there

When I was young and innocent
I ate rainbow-flavoured sno-cones
Now my belly if full of bitterness,
I’m pregnant with desire,
And I give birth to sadness…
Yet again.

poem: scarred

Denied belief
Denied relief
I scarred myself
My hate to keep
Refrained from peace
Restrained and leashed
I cried out for well so deep
That I could cast
That I might last
Within a pit of murky hope
The light grows dim
The plight within
Makes me sear my childhood soul
I prayed for help
I prayed for self
I shivered and I called your name
You recognized the self-despised
And then you turned
Your face away.

poem: dreamlover

I sought you and I found you
But yours was not the face of my dreams
Your twisted cataclysmic mockery
Belied my fears it seems
I needed you to be my lover
I needed you to be my friend
Instead you opened up your soul
And offered me as steep descent

Swallowed up, I became you
Deep inside you, I defamed you
Choking on your bitter bile
With disgust and loathing I did claim you
A parasitic thing, I ate you
My life was yours and it sustained you
Deep inside a hades just for me
I lost myself, and therefore gained you.