Poetry
When women experience sexual violence writing about the feelings and
experience can help to heal the emotional pain felt as a result of this
violence. For many women poetry provides an outlet to express these feelings
while for others reading poetry can be equally empowering.
How to submit your poetry
As a feminist service we value the experiences of women and encourage
the use of this website for women to express themselves. If you would
like to share your poetry through our site please email your poem to admin@brissc.org.au.
All poetry will be reviewed by the BRISSC Collective and permission from
the author sought before being added to the site. BRISSC reserves the
right to refuse to display any submissions. We do not support sexist,
racist or homophobic material.
Poems:
Father's Day
On this special day Dad
Of course I'll think of you...
Knowing that you really are an
Arsehole through and through
You beat and raped my Mum,
You beat and raped me too...
I've grown, survived and been supported...
Without any help from you!
 Untitled
When I was younger he would always protect me
If I had a problem he'd always be there
He told me I was his favourite and
He would never do anything to hurt me
I can't understand how he could do these things
If he really did care
He would come into my room late at night
In the end I didn't put up a fight
I couldn't understand why he would do this to me
Why couldn't he be my father like he was supposed to be
No matter what I did I can still live
But I'm not sure if I can forgive
You
Koories (Murris) Out There
No more being shame
'cause you's were never the blame
Tell your Daughter
Tell your Sons
Don't let them be the next Ones
Warn them of the dangers
And tell them it's not only strangers
Untitled
Do you really? I hear you say.
Take one step back, uncomfortable laugh.
Do you really call yourself a feminist?
I never would have guessed.
You look like such a nice girl.
And I cried when you told me
Someone hurt the farmer's daughter.
The woman 'round the corner.
No, I didn't know her.
Does it matter?
And I sat and watched the movie
No one seemed to notice
How he spoke down to her
The way she made the dinner
Set the table 'just the way he likes it'
And still he wasn't happy.
And look at all the billboards
Telling me what I should be
To be loved
To be wanted
Telling what's worthwhile and making worth
beyond my reach.
And you ask, why do you look so sad?
And I realise you haven't noticed anything.
Just a movie
Just a billboard
Just a man and his wife.
And it's then that I know
Perhaps you'll never see the way I do
Even looking in the same direction.
so,
she came here
So,
She came here...
and when she looked around...
She didn't really take much notice...
of the government policies,
or the interest rates,
or the unemployment figures,
or the angry faces
shouting:
WOGS, GO HOME
She just went on believing,
that all that was needed,
.was
..just
...a
....little
.....hard
......work.
So,
she worked,
and worked,
and worked...
as a factory worker,
or an ironing woman,
and a cleaner,
and a housemaid.
And when she grew tired
her body screamed,
her back bent over,
and her arms
waved,
wildly,
as if struggling
against the tide,
of children,
and machines,
and drunk, angry
husbands...
So,
they,
came,
and took her to a Park...
?
... for a rest
And,
they explained Australia to her,
in
the
language
of
electricity...
and she had a rest.
You see,
they didn't know:
that she had seen people die
that she had fought off men
groping in the dark,
that she had left, her family,
friends, and her enemies,
BEHIND...
MONEY SPEAKS ENGLISH.
My mother can't
* Mental institution
 Untitled
There is no difference between being raped
And being pushed down a flight of stairs
Except that the wounds also bleed inside
There is no difference between being raped
And being run over by a truck
Except that afterwards men ask if you enjoyed it
There is no difference between being raped
And losing a hand in a moving machine
Except that doctors don't want to get involved
The police wear a knowing smirk
And in small towns you become a veteran whore
There is no difference between being raped
And going head first through a windshield
Except that afterwards you are afraid not of cars
But of half the human race
Untitled
The sparkling blue eyes have now turned to grey
Once bright like the ocean, now dull like rain.
Nobody sees sadness hidden within such beautiful eyes
The secrets once held, the spiral of betrayal and lies.
It is said your eyes are the window to your soul
But my soul is not beautiful, it cannot grow
For what my eyes have forgotten, my soul still sees
The pain still lingers, my heart still bleeds.
But now he has gone, must be left in the past
But it now seems my life is moving too fast
I need time out, a moment to reflect
I feel numb, no emotions I am able to detect.
My full life story, nobody will know
Where I have been, no child should go
I'll never understand why I was treated this way
Their eyes were open but they looked away.
To You (you know who you are)
Can’t run, can’t hide, fear creeps.
Feel secure, little bit safe, fear sneaks.
Darkness was and has been,
Darkness damp, always unclean.
Habit keeps you trapped, unfeeling, stops, drains, sets you reeling.
Time to slow, take things in, begin to wonder,…even dream?
Feel your feet, head and heart,
Feel your mind and soul start…
to breathe, you have survived,
Time to really live your life.
The letters that sound like RIP
R
The curling of the
lip downward, the
contraction of the
tongue, the
rising of the bile
A
The throbbing
of the tonsil, the
desperation of the
heart, the
salty aftertaste
P
The pursing of
the mouth, the
spitting dismissal, the
scornful play-down
E
The silence that
holds it all together, the
pulsing temple, the
lumped up throat
The letters that sound like
RIP
tear me up.
They haunt me,
her, she,
she and she,
maybe he too,
maybe you.
Such a filthy word
to use
to say
to feel
to know.
Vapour
The heat is putting a dewdrop
to death.
A criminal is raping
my intermittent breath.
Ineffectively, I am looking for a spot
which does not hurt – as yet.
The witness of my end
is the windmill, in the field.
And you…
Trust each other, at night, when tired,
while kneeling in front of the graves of humaneness.
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