OK – these are needed, but my harshest work. Trigger to the max. Rape.


He doesn’t see the problem. They are friends
she’s often said so. She is lonely too.
He’s bought her dinner. Now why can’t she do
this one small thing? The messages she sends

are mixed. Her kiss goodbye tickles his cheek.
He holds her hand too long. Sees in her eyes
a feeling he should stop, apologize.
He’s really had a fucking awful week.

It happens. And she cries. How typical.
It’s what she wanted, really. He was drunk.
She wouldn’t like him if he were a monk.
He’s angry that she cries, leaves, doesn’t call.

The friendship’s over. And he’s feeling sad.
He loved her, but all bitches are quite mad.

He feels connected to each one. He knows
he’ll change each life forever, mould each mind.
And be the most considerate they’d find
to teach them love. It’s sad that each one grows

and leaves. Or he leaves first. Better that way
because the guilt’s on him. As at the start.
His tenderness for each sweet girl’s young heart
is more than he can find the words to say.

Actions speak louder. His inquiring hand,
creeps up their leg. His tongue invades an ear.
He whispers darling, sweetheart, oh my dear.
After, he’ll introduce her to the band

give her a better mark, or buy her tea.
And no harm done at all that he can see.

He does not hear their screams. He masturbates
Until red sore.Then pulls a velvet rag
Across the glans. He’ll use it as a gag
A little later. Underneath the floor

His special room. He saw her in the street
Pulled her into his car. He’s impotent
So far with her. He’s worried that she meant
Those things she said. And so he tied her feet

To keep her safe. She’s such an attitude
some men, not him, would hurt her, break her jaw
so she could not say such things any more.
He tears her clothes off, he prefers them nude

Takes her downstairs ignores her gasps and tears
Some of his girls have been with him for years.


About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
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6 Responses to OK – these are needed, but my harshest work. Trigger to the max. Rape.

  1. elisem says:

    Thank you for these. A lot.

  2. roadnotes says:

    These are beautifully horrible, horribly beautiful.

  3. ffutures says:

    I hope that you can get these published somewhere where a wider audience will see them. It’s needed.

  4. hamsterine says:

    I think a typical thing about “monsters” like you describe is that it’s so hard to relate to them. The other two poems struck me as very different, its so easy to see how the 2 men could look at their own behaviour and not really see an ethical problem with it. It takes an outsider to see the problem.

    Lust really is an altered state and it’s all too easy to do shameful things when one are under the influence of too much libido, just the same as after too much alcohol etc. It’s very easy when one is deeply, madly in lust to feel that the lust is a tangible thing in the room and, surely, the other person must be feeling it too. I felt like that a lot when I was full of testosterone. Not that I raped anyone, you understand, but I remember being absolutely amazed on a number of occasions that someone who I thought would fuck me didn’t. What was going on; couldn’t they FEEL the amazing chemistry between us?! It takes hindsight to realise that the chemistry was entirely in my head, because I was under the influence of hormones, that I might as well have taken LSD and been affronted when the person I was with didn’t experience all the amazing flying blue jellyfish.

    In case this doesn’t go without saying, I am in no way trying to make an argument that men are slaves to their hormones and can’t be expected to understand that someone might not want to have sex with them and they have to respect that decision! But I do feel personally very lucky to have experienced different hormonal states and feel I have a really vivid insight into how/why there is such a vast difference in perception of the event between, for example, the two no-longer-friends you speak of in your first poem. My clients often seem unable to understand the idea that I might not be able to “get off” on what we are doing in the same way they are, and that indeed my least favourite part of being a sex worker is when I get a client who is so fixated on making me orgasm that I have to fake one before he’ll move on, have his own, and let the session end! I find myself getting irritated by that but then I have to remember that they have never been blessed with transgender experience the way I have, that they have every reason for not being able to imagine what it might be like to have very different hormone levels and feel very different.

    Sorry, this has gone off on a tangent. Thank you for the poems, as you can see they gave me lots to think about.

  5. Those are tough, but beautifully crafted. They work well as a set.

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