Who hears the woman crying rape into the night,
Thrashing her legs, tears streaming down her swollen face?
Who hears the woman imploring her husband to lower his clenched fist,
Arms outstretched, her face turned away?
Who hears the woman crying with her baby when there’s no one to care for it but her,
Her body draped over the edge of the bed, listless?
Who is listening to her?
Who sees the woman turning the key to lock the liquor cabinet,
Sneaking away and stashing it in her bedside table?
Who sees the woman lingering over the stove, fraught with exhaustion,
Setting the table and washing the dishes?
Who sees the woman laying flowers at her boyfriend’s grave,
On her knees before his stone, wondering why she couldn’t have come sooner?
Has anyone seen her?
Who defends the woman who wants to be educated,
Dreaming of nothing but clutching a stack of books under her arm, walking to school?
Who defends the woman who is forced to have her clitoris removed,
Being restrained at all four limbs, sweating in the African sun?
Who defends the bitches?
Who defends the sluts?
Who tries to rescue her?
What was she wearing that prompted him to rape her?
What did she do to provoke her husband to such rage?
What did she gain from that one night stand?
I’m sure she deserved it.
Why couldn’t she fill the void he replaced with alcohol?
Why couldn’t she work harder?
Why couldn’t she have coaxed him off the edge that night?
She just isn’t good enough.
And to the women who want to be educated,
Have you not yet learned your role in society?
And to the women who scream as their bodies are marred,
When will you realize that your sexuality is a curse?
When will you realize that your pleasure is an instrument of sin?
You’re bitches for yelling at your children, for complaining to your husband, for gossiping with your friends-
It doesn’t matter that you’re tired or trying your best.
You’re sluts for giving into sexual temptation-
You allowed him to seduce you.
You’re sluts for making that risqué comment-
How dare you express your desires.
You’re sluts for wearing that skirt-
The one that falls above the knee.
It doesn’t matter that he said he loved you and he promised to take care of you.
It doesn’t matter that you love that skirt.
Stop being so emotional.
Stop being so dramatic.
He’s a he,
And you’re she.
He can’t help it,
But you can, you
-Bitch
-Slut
-Whore
-Dyke
-Butch
And now that I have your attention,
Is it God’s fault?
Or is it ours?
Who is listening to women?
Katelin Morrison is a sophomore English major at Penn State Harrisburg.
