TRISTAN'S MOON

Her Vacant Motherhood

A form of violence specifically perpetrated against males is forcing them to rape family members, a practice known as forced incest, where both the rapist and the victim suffer the violence. (SHATTERED LIVES: Immediate medical care vital for sexual violence victims. A report by Médecins Sans Frontières. March 2009).

                                                                                     


Rough Whore Blues, a poem by Dane (13)

we were the only mother and son team in our building

i would fuck her and men would watch

jacking off

and we would

have to swear we were really related

and we would speedball

mama and i and i would do some tricks on the side

but no holding out on mama she knew where i lived

in her pussy and her twat so then i started getting

public hair so she shaved me cuz shaved was what

those tricks wanted

and i do not think of myself as no

whore but i thoughta her one and she owed money

to a dealer fuckingshit so he paid me to beat the cunt

off that bitch

i hated her and her fucking needles and

her crispy creams was all we ever had, you go live

in them projects you think it’s so funny boy i knock

your motherfucking teeth out your head

i hated that bitch

but men would pay us to watch me beat her up and

i beat her until that rough fucking whore turned

blue and if they paid me skank i’ll beat on you

so that is why i am a loser punk cutter dope bitch

who wants to die

with this disease please god i am so tired no

speedball can do me right

i have been sober a week and i hate it soaking

this chill in a thousand blankets

no one can get to me or hurt me

wrapped up in a thousand blankets



I AM, a poem by Jose (14)

I am my mother's cunt.

I am that cunt's empty house.

I got nothing at Xmas.

I am coming out of her cunt to escape her.

But she will not leave me alone.

She is drunk asleep.

She is drunk asleep.

I do not want her boyfriend to find me.

If they find me I will kill myself.

I will not go back.

I do not care what a court says.

I will not go back.

Her boyfriend gave me HIV.

Fuck all of them.

They made me fuck her.

I fucked my own mother.

Let her be alone in her empty house.

I hope that cunt dies.

I will kill myself.

I will prove it.


Women can be perpetrators. Male rape survivors... reported being forced to have intercourse with female fighters or guards while in detention. Most of these assaults were committed publicly, to cause humiliation. Even if not involved directly in forced sex, women may play a role as accomplices, facilitating repeated aggression or preventing the violation from being reported. (SHATTERED LIVES: Immediate medical care vital for sexual violence victims. A report by Médecins Sans Frontières. March 2009).


damascus

talk don’t change a thing/ o it’s fading for ya/ words don’t sink, they swim/ o it’s fading for ya/ the olive clutches of damascus were far but not so far i could not sail away/ speechless cities of the barbarous night strapped against my father’s breast/ we stood there mute for the longest time just watching her dance in her madness further and further away until she was the size of an ovum/ o mama/ daddy/ how can it be a surprise i/ love the people i love/ time coming down/ no sleep at all/ whores and thieves and we’re all going to fall/ my mother’s dancing in her ornaments could suspend reality for a time/ like the light through trees/ you do not believe my life/ it is not what you know/ to me it is just a life/ i lose track of how unusual it is to other people/ i, too, cannot imagine their lives/ freud has his inappropriate list of analogies/ mumbojumbo/ get your sacred sigmund out of my face/ he is diseased by the cold and the smells of mold and fungi in his empty house/ my house was never empty it was filled with hate mostly for me/ he who has stayed forever/ with his copper wings green as a cadillac/ daddy is home from work and he will have you now/ his whores of fish and lipstick on his factory skin and i could smell them out in the cheap perfume of their woolworth stones/ your mind racing as he mauled you in your ten-thousand years of loneliness/ if you so much as made a sound, he would throw you naked into the unforgiving wall/ grab your hair and pound your face into the death of salt with death again and the only time he had ever regarded you with anything like regard was that one time you begged him to kill you — kill me now, daddy — break my skull in this foxhole you give me to live in and there she was/ my mother in her violent robes/ screaming at him to give it to me/ harder/ fuck him in the mouth until he breaks in two/ stands the man whose fists are never finished/ mother, what was wrong with you/ to unleash this whip and there was no home to crawl to/ his withering and i will shut my eyes/ the boy hired for his hours to float like angels above the neon moon and lick daddy clean of deadly dreams, desire, and summer’s tombs, she dances toward the treeline twirling at my fields asleep in blood/ she drank her water from the pond and tortured the torturers’ wounded hours with exile from her vacant motherhood of love/ a circumstance of dancing so far apart and falling/ i could only shudder at what flesh was left/ torn down and torn away and torn from the shreds salvaged/ all the letting go and narrowing/ i moved and was living alone somewhere in damascus o/ how can it be a surprise i love/ the people i love/ time coming down/ no sleep at all/ whores and thieves and we’re all going to fall/ talk don’t change a thing/ o it’s fading for ya/ words don’t sink, they swim/ o it’s fading for ya/ o damascus/



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