The Middle of The Night in My House

(photo kidnapped from thedissolve)

I’m your worst nightmare come to life
I’m a girl who you can’t shut up
There’s not a gag big enough can handle this mouth
I’m gonna tell everyone what you did to me
It was the middle of the night in my house
It was the middle of the night in my house
It was the middle of the night in my house
It was the middle of the night in my house
It was the middle of the night in my house
It was the middle of the night in my house
It was the middle of the night in my house
It was the middle of the night in my house
I was having this dream
Where there was this doctor
And I was on a conveyer belt
And I was going by really really slow
And I’m nine years old
And it’s really tiring
And I’m really sleepy
Sleepy
Sleepy
Sleepy
Sleepy tired
And I’m laying on the conveyor belt
And I’m going by really slow
And there’s this doctor
And he’s looking down at me
And I’m looking up at him
And he’s looking down at me
And I’m looking up at him
And he’s looking down at me
And he inspects
Every single girl as they go by
And we’re on this island
And so it’s not a part of the rest of the real world
It’s separate from the rest of the real world
And because it’s an island
And I’m nine years old
And the only things I’ve learned are off of TV
I think everybody else
Like all of the girls on the conveyor belt
Are gonna be brown
And I’m the only white one
And I’m going by
And I’m going by
And I’m going by
And he looks down
And he inspects them
He inspects them
It was the middle of the night in my house
It was the middle of the night in my house
It was the middle of the night in my house
It was the middle of the night in my house
And then finally he comes to me
And he stops
And he looks down
And I’m looking up at him
And he’s looking down at me
And I’m looking up at him
And he’s looking down at me
And he reaches his hand down
And starts touching me
Is this the dream?
Is this the dream?
It was the middle of the night in my house
It was the middle of the night in my house
It was the middle of the night in my house
(Male voice: Nothing was happening)
It was the middle of the night in my house
It was the middle of the night in my house
Only I wasn’t dreaming
I wasn’t dreaming
I don’t really think I was dreaming
I really think something happened in that house
It was the middle of the night in my house
It was the middle of the night in my house
It was the middle of the night in my house
It was the middle of the night in my house
But see what if I had a fantasy before that that made it happen
Or what if there was a dream
Or something I saw on TV
What if it really didn’t happen
Then I say something
Then everybody gets accused
(Male voice: Nothing was happening)
What about the fact that I like passive sex?
It was the middle of the night in my house
It was the middle of the night in my house
It was the middle of the night in my house
It was the middle of the night in my house
(Male voice: Nothing was happening)
Something was happening!
Why is it that I woke up from the first 12 years of my life with no top on?
(Male voice: Nothing was happening)
It was the middle of the night in my house
It was the middle of the night in my house
It was the middle of the night in my house
It was the middle of the night in my house
I am your worst nightmare come to life!
And I’m not gonna shut up
I’m gonna tell everyone
(Male voice: Nothing was happening)
I’m gonna tell everyone
(Male voice: Nothing was happening)
I can sing you a pretty song
(Male voice: Nothing was happening)
I can sing you a pretty song
It was the middle of the night in my house
It was the middle of the night in my house
It was the middle of the night in my house
It was the middle of the night in my house
It was the middle of the night in my house
It was the middle of the night in my house
It was the middle of the night in my house
Something did happen
Why would a baby dream of rape?
Why would a baby dream of rape?
Why would a baby dream of rape?

-by Kathleen Hanna

I so admire this piece for its bravery. To take a memory of abuse and pull it from the black shoebox under the stairs and let it out. To free yourself from the suffocation of keeping it secret. It's the ultimate in courage, as far as I'm concerned, and I'm so grateful to all those that stand up and let their story be heard.

(lyrics kidnapped from thinkingqueer - also, i love what was said on whenyouworshipthemoon:
What is perfect about this poem, and what I can imagine may be annoying is the repetition. The frantic repetition because that is what goes on in your head. Frantic repetition, and the questioning if you’re remembering it right and then the fear of if you’re wrong, and you tell, they could get in trouble. And then you wonder if you’re just crazy, but what you have to remember is the crazy comes from what they did to you)