Content warning: This poem contains strong language and discusses rape culture.Rhyme for a Crime
Last Saturday I went out, out to a bar,
The music was dodgy and floor sticky like tar,
But I was with two friends who are great and so,I was happy to be there and for drinks to flow.
We joined up to the big long queue,
3 men were behind me, doing what men do,
Clapping each other on the back and the arm,
Seemingly fine and doing no harm.
Then low and behold, what did I find?
Some fucking cunt's hand on my behind!
Perhaps it was tired and needed a rest -
of all my features, my arse is known as the best.
But you know what, mate? That's not your call.
It's for people in bed to compliment, not you to maul.
Because maul's what you did, you ham-fisted fuck,
I flew round pretty quick and boy you all ducked.
All 3 of you creeps laughing along,
You just didn't get that what you'd done was so wrong.
The worst was I didn't know which of you it was out of the bunch,
So I decided not to guess my punch.
I moved away, silently seething,
My heart kind of felt like it was bleeding.
This is why I fight so hard – because it's wrong and it's sick and it's twisted and gross, It's not a compliment - it's just fucked up,
Don't you dare fucking tell me to stop making a fuss.
My friends weren't too sure, 'it's not that bad'
I said 'if that happened to you on a bus you'd go mad.'
So this rhyme's little moral is, kids -
Just don't do it or laugh or shrug it away,
Consent is consent, and my body is mine.
It's not a play-thing for anyone to abuse, that's not fine.
And it's moments like that which cause me to fight,
Because it's men like that who don't know the meaning of 'No.'
Those men are the ones who our society shapes,
The ones who refuse to stop, and will rape.
Rose Walker, 2013-14 President