A. Blakeley Bailey: #MeToo Series
A poem about what happened after October 14th, 2017
I’m at the hospital with my boyfriend
We’re hand in hand
He is clinging to me the way I am clinging to life
Like I could slip away at any minute
I barely exist
We are sent from room to room
Until we arrive at a small one
With three chairs
and a table to dissect me on
He squeezes my hand harder
If it weren’t for him
His encouragement
I wouldn’t be here now
In this room
Where I need to be
The only place that can take
The broken eggshell that I have become
And find the man that took me between his fingers
Without asking and
Squeezed
They are asking me what happened
And I have to tell them
I don’t remember
I was drunk
On a Saturday night
And I thought I got in an Uber
And now here I am
I have been here for hours
I have told this story
So many times now
I have stopped crying
It doesn’t even feel like it is mine anymore
It is the girl’s from yesterday
She died in that car
I don’t know who I am now
But *this* is all I think about
I imagine a baby only thinks about the bright light
that suddenly appeared when
They were thrust into this cold world
And I-- I only think about this
Nurses keep handing me papers
Side effects
Consent forms
Hospital information
What shots do you have?
Oh.
I don’t know.
I’ll just get another shot.
Was a condom used?
I don’t remember.
There are pills to prevent H.I.V?
I might have H.I.V?
I didn’t think of that.
What hurts?
Everything.
Especially my chest
Right, where my heart stopped beating.
Okay, it’s time to get up on the table.
Your boyfriend needs to leave now.
No.
I don’t want him to leave.
He is the only one keeping me present
*In my own mind that is*
I cannot think if he is not here--
And--
He’s not here.
Spread your legs.
Does it hurt?
Yes, it hurts.
I don’t see any tearing.
Was there blood?
I don’t remember
everything hurts.
Would you like us to take pictures?
No.
Please, no.
What if he took pictures?
I can’t have a matching set.
Here is the morning after pill.
And another pill for the pain.
And another for safe measure.
We need you to come back.
Tomorrow.
And the day after.
And the day after that.
And here are some more pills.
Take them daily.
We need you to take a blood test.
Multiples, actually.
Tell us again what happened.
Do you know his name?
Sign this form.
Could you pick him from a lineup?
Are you pressing charges?
My silence is deafening
It is damning
How do I stay silent
When it is the only relief
My loved ones can get it?
How can I stay silent
Just to wonder if he’ll do it again?
How am I,
a broken, clumsy marionette
The only force between him
And another girl?
My hands and feet on
Strings like a puppet,
How can I walk this tightrope
When my feet aren’t my own?
My dad met this news with his shotgun in hand
He wants to hunt him down
Like the animal he is
I wish my father rage could swallow my predator whole
Chew him up
And shit him out
But I am too tired to be angry
I am not fueled by fire and rage
There is no venom in my veins
Just a little dinghy
Floating along
So slowly
I don’t know if my lifeboat will make it to shore
I don’t know where to go from here
Except down with the ship
They call me a survivor
But did I?
Did I survive?
A. Blakeley Bailey is a young non-binary artist and poet. They attended Alfred University for fine arts and have had several art peices in different shows including one that hung in the Everson Muesum in Syracuse, NY. They have also preformed at Button Poetry's live show and will be back this June to preform again.
