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Wednesday, 3 December 2014

The Outcome

When I was a child a man took my body 
and used it to gratify his own.
He knew I was a child but it did not matter
when it came to attributing blame.
The guilt was his, the pleasure was his;
mine was the guilt and the lasting shame,
mine were the marks of the scars he left
where he hurt me in ways I could not name.
Now, a whole long lifetime on, I weep
to see how little things have changed:
murder is not murder and rape is not rape;
the power play goes on 

and the outcome is the same.

Abigail Wyatt


1 comment:

  1. A powerful poem to go with a terrible story, Abi... it seems hopeless sometimes - every week another story highlighting various sexual atrocities against women and men, of all ages, and still a lack of understanding and/or recognition of the crime.