A junior english major shares a poem related to the #MeToo movement.


Content warning: This story includes details of sexual assault that might be upsetting to some readers.

I crawl home to her,

snake skin over whispers

in the dark. Between folds of yellow, there’s a


smile, not quite a caress,

a sharp arrow defining the unnatural arches she made and all

tucked in beneath the moon — pellucid.

Too soon.

Too soon.

I have shed over his footprints, marked the earth in blood.

We hang on the edge,

her eyes clouded from the heat of a baited breath;

she                                   strains

for ironic silence on the sheets,


His humidity floats above. Listen.

I have come to tell you,

I have come to tell you,

                              from the gods,

                              from the dove,

                              from the lamb,

I have come in a dying whisper

to say, that the very rocks


       cked, in rage.

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