I carry a black four-inch pocket knife
covered in roses in my boot,
And pink mini mace next to a white alarm
hung around my neck.
A year ago, I got scared of a dog
when it ran up on me and my friends.
And I screamed, being heard by all
four buildings around us.
And PD got called because
someone thought I was hurt.
I was told, “You’d never get hurt
with a pair of lungs like that.”
I am taught men are wild creatures
that can’t control themselves.
I never wore short skirts and low-cut tops,
I always wore comfy t shirts with jeans.
I never went to parties with my friends
Or took drinks from others
Because I was paranoid.
But it still happened.
It’s my fault I trusted you.
I went alone into your room unarmed.
It’s my fault I believed a pathological liar.
That I couldn’t stop you.
That I couldn’t scream.
That I froze.
All I could do was beg you to stop and cry.
It is your fault it happened.
I carry a four-inch fixed blade knife on my hip
And a pink bedazzled taser in my purse.
One day I’ll replace them with a neck knife
hanging under my shirt
And a .380 baby rock pistol
concealed on my side.
I keep guys at yard length.
Never go in rooms alone.
Never let my guard down even with friends
Because what if he has bad intentions too?