Hounds of Love: Poem
And the audacity of Narcissus and the hunt
Content warning: sexual assault, physical assault.
is being sued by Donald Trump for daring to say he raped her, after it was proven in court that he did. The article is linked at the bottom.I commented in solidarity that the boy who sexually assaulted me, should it have gone public, would have done something similar for daring to say something negative about him. If not him, his parents. For Endangering His Future And His Reputation, or something privileged, rich and white like that.
Why didn’t it go public? Because of the law and the cops. What the police said about me over live radio is the title of the episode where I told my story (NSFW—sexual assault and physical assault): “this girl just had a bad date, this won’t take long”. Yes, he did. Episode link for here below.
So, in solidarity and support for E. Jean, I am going to share my poem about the assault and his stalking me afterwards. I hope someone takes a little strength from it as I did from writing it.
This was taken about nine months before it all started.
Hounds of Love
The blunt truth, like the blunt tip of a hewn arrowhead:
You stalked me.
After you sexually assaulted me.
Stalked. Pursued. Shadowed. Harrassed. Watched.
Hunted.
Some of our (then) mutual friends are learning of this, your hunt, now, reading this poem.
There was always an arrow pointed at me then—
College student
Victim
White hind, hunted doe
quivering, poised at the moment before the dash into the hedgerow
Anorexic purging paranoic
Pick your poison or flavor
Making much ado about nothing
"This girl just had a bad date," the cop said
(but I was choked and tortured)
"I thought you'd be past this by now," the friend said
(but I was choked and tortured)
Arrows to my heart
and then
it
wasn't
ever
over
Sorority meetings after dark
Nightime classes
Midnight dashes
to Blockbuster Video
to avoid those late fees
(be kind, rewind)
and the hunter always followed
deep into the forest of campus
down the wide lane of Avent Ferry
into the shelter of my first home
my Mews, I your dark muse
on foot or by car, you followed
my ex-boyfriend, my attacker
("This girl just had a bad date")
Stalking your prey
Watching me
Your arrow cocked
Your cock bowed
Reveling in the hunt
REVELNIT my license plate said
and o you must have laughed as you followed its beacon in the dark
Following my hare-white Prelude
Prelude to more pain?
Knowing I couldn't do anything
because the law and (some of) our mutual friends were on your side
("I thought you'd be past this by now.")
Would that I could turn back time and never open my door
to you that first time
or the next day
when you wanted to apologize for that first time for
forcing your hard kisses and touches upon me,
that blurry watercolor memory of a horror show of a next day
(I was choked and tortured)
But instead
you followed and watched and followed and watched and absorbed me with you eyes and your feet and your mileage and you eyes and your phone calls
You should be Artemis' stag, quivering in hedgerows, you should feel how it is to be the hunted one, transformed for watching what was not yours, there in the Mews by the Lake,
pursued by your own hunting dogs To The Teeth.
But instead I am the one transformed by your hunt. Forever.
I poke the wound that used to fester, the wound shaped Iike
I SHOULD NOT HAVE LET YOU IN
once on Saturday night
again on Sunday morning
It has healed with jagged edges and no longer festers.
It no longer tells me to go back and do it over, that it was my fault.
(Be kind, rewind)
You were the hunter, and prey is not to blame.
I face your hounds of love head-on in therapy.
No more quivering in the hedgerows.
And I am an archer now.
I hope you see yourself on the news
#metoo
Yes, you, too.
Much ado about nothing! the men cry. and I see your next-day violent apopoletic apology ruse in their predatory eyes. I see your blue eyes in their every shade.
"I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes." Indeed, much ado.
I almost died in your lap, because your forced your heart upon my body. Your stalker hunted hound eyes tried to engulf me and tear me apart.
Much ado about nothing
("This girl just had a bad date")
"Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps," wrote the Bard.
I am no longer trapped in your Mews. Yours, you Robbed me of them, the robber with the apt name.
And I am an archer now.
5.14.20, expanded 7.18.20
