baby-doll shame

 When I was 12, I stood on a street corner in the middle of a scorching August day in Palm Springs, Calif waiting for a bus to take me to a friend's. It was hot, and the bus wasn't coming fast enough. A man pulled up and asked me if I needed a ride. I accepted, thinking I didn't want to spend all day waiting under a blazing sun. The man had other ideas, taking me far into the desert before trying to rape me. I escaped, barely, by fighting back and then jumping out of the car into a large date grove where I hid for hours. I never told anyone about it, just sucked it up as the consequences of a bad decision. My fault, of course. It haunted me. Yet shame kept me from sharing the experience with friends or family. Years later, I woke up and began writing about it in a fractured, spoken word poem that provided the catharsis I sought. 

baby-doll shame

summer sun beats down

on this town

it's fucking hot

sweat wet

and temps on the rise

but I'm just a clown

a kid on a street corner

mascara drowning

the sides

of my eyes

the bus late again

so I give in

when a man with a tan

and belly of beer

pulls near

wags his finger to come here

i fly to the front seat

escape the heat

hand on the door

as he floors

the pedal to the metal

i'm unsettled

fly, fly, fly

past street lights

screaming yellow

ain't nothin' mellow

he's on a mission

a pussy hunt

and I'm the young cunt

he wants to stunt

tight and fine

the man wants what’s mine

but I'm only a child

with a taste of wild

fly, fly, fly

past vacant lots

broken bottles and pop tops

bits of torn glass

wink in the sunlight

quick and mean,

like they know the scene

another young filly

‘bout to get fucked

layin’ rubber the man stops

pulls the Chevy to a halt

this side of nowhere

middle of a date grove

ready to assault

yanks at his fly

lust in his eye

i lunge for the door

but he knows the score

and fast, 'cause the man wants ass

he slams his fist

on the fake leather trim

he's thinkin' he's in

lock down

no sound

just bud-soaked breath

and baby-doll screams.

the man grabs at my pants

hungry for the 

horizontal dance

but I don't wanna play

this game, this day

but it’s not my say

way too late

already made the date

the bed's made

gonna get laid

the buttons on my 501s pop

ripped wide by the man at my side

who should be at work

in a button-down shirt

starched white

sweat stains under his arms

not cum stains straining to claim

a 12-year-old girl

who shouldn’t be

clawing her way

through baby-doll shame.

with a sweep of my fist

two hands locked

i aim for his cock

come up with a miss

i connect instead

with the side of his head

his jawbone cracks

from my pre-teen attack

eyes roll back

oozing and white

i make my flight

into summer’s bright light

fly, fly, fly

out of the car

can’t go far

split lip and legs quaking

a rape in the making

blood oozes

slow like molasses

though my piece of ass is

safe for the moment

my mind spins

a torrent of sins

afraid the nasty-ass man

will chase me down

as I slither around

in the dirt of a date grove

tunneling my way

into a gentler day

filled with jacks, balls

and beheaded Barbie dolls

-->