---

 

Order this writing in Kuypers’ first poetry book Hope Chest in the Attic available for only 1095

Order this writing in the book finally, literature for the snotty and elite (v1) This is volume 1 of a 2 volume set, 6"x9". Most of this book is also in the 5.5"x8.5" book.
the 6"x9" paperback book: $21.95

Order this writing in the book finally, literature for the snotty and elite This is the 1st of a 3 volume 2009 set.
the 5.5"x8.5" paperback book: $14.95 or as a e-book/PDF file download: $5.95

Order this writing in the poetry book (woman.) available for immediate online sale click the image to order the book with any one of 8 covers!

Order this writing in the poetry book Burn Through Me of Janet Kuypers᾿ writings that were set to music by the HA!Man of South Africa (with many poems released on the Burn Through Me CD set Order this 6" x 9" ISBN# book today:

Order this writing in the poetry book by Janet Kuypers: Rape, Sexism, Life & Death Order this 6" x 9" ISBN# book today:

This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “Tracks” Down in the Dirt, v199 (the 9/22 Issue) Order the paperback book:

Order this writing that appears in the one-of-a-kind anthology The Paths Less Traveled the Down in the Dirt September-December 2022 issues collection book		get the 422 page September-December 2022 Down in the Dirt 6" x 9" ISBN# perfect-bound paperback book:

Order this poem in the 2022 poetry book Shattering the Glass Ceiling Janet Kuypers poetry book from CyberWit.net press		This women’s issues poetry book includes poetry on about acquaintance rape, violence against woman and sexism in general, including poetry on women’s issues that relate to events and dates in the calendar year. Select poetry in this collection is also translated into Hindi, Dutch, Slovak, Spanish, Farsi, Lithuanian, and Chinese. This book also contains select essays, prose and a journal entry about feminism globally, and even includes the section“a book for men” about terminology for women order the ISBN# perfect-bonud 5½" x 8½" paperback book from CyberWit.net!

the room of the rape


For almost two years when I walked up the nine stairs,
held on to the wooden railing whose finish was worn,
I’d pass the first door on the right.
My bedroom door was closed for one year, ten months and seven days.
I slept in the den across the hall.

One morning I woke, walked into the hall
and looked at the door. I turned around,
knowing I couldn’t take it anymore,
walked into the den, folded the bed back into the couch,
and then walked into the hall, squarely facing
the door of the room.
A room in my house, that I let him go in to.
But when I woke up that morning, I told myself
that I wouldn’t let him stop me today.

I turned the handle of the door. I heard a snap.
I slowly pushed the door open,
slowing it down to hear the hinges creak.
The shade to the small window in the corner was drawn,
so I stepped onto the parquet floor and turned on the light.

I felt the walls jump back in fear,
fear of having to see the light again,
then rush in on me in anger.
I saw the bed sheets rustle, get kicked
and tossed to the ground again.
I tasted the sweat and I wanted to spit,
but I couldn’t. Something told me
that wasn’t what I was supposed to do.
My bedroom.
I saw the fists reach out from the walls
and thought of the poster I drew
of rebellion and rage
that is tucked in the back of my closet.
I felt the muscles tense behind my eyebrows
I pursed my lips
I swallowed the sweat
My bedroom.
I felt the fists punching my stomach,
grabbing my face, my arms, my hair,
pulling my legs apart.
I felt my head against the pillows again
as I tried to just push my face
into the salt and the sheets
I heard the screams I never made
echo inside me
the screams that haunted me
I closed my eyes from the pain and the light
My bedroom.
I thought of the fist, the symbol for the
communist work ethic
to do what you’re told,
to disappear into society.

I opened my eyes.
The room was mine --
the sheets on the floor, the stains on the bed, the smell of Hell
and the photographs on the dresser.
I looked at the pictures
and found one of him, with his arms around me.
I picked up the frame,
ran my hand along the gilded edges.
Flakes of paint fell to the floor.
I opened the drawer of the dresser
and gently set it face down.
I turned around,
shutting off the light on my way out.
My bedroom.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...