Rape Culture by Kenan Ince

by Leslie Anne Mcilroy


Mike brings back punch
to this girl he just met as she
spins in the contingent
beauty of voices around her.
The drink sings in her
mind its tales of beautiful
submission and she smiles
and says you know I like
feminism all right but what’s the
point.
— That’s it exactly, he says.
What year is it in this world
where we don’t need to be
equal? What’s the weather like
where they are? When the rain
falls they leave the party
and walk toward their dorm.
It’s weird how his dick
already feels thrust into
the idea of her, her cold wet
hands, the way she keeps
pockets of warmth within
her coat that his hands crawl
their way inside.

In this world where they think
they’re already equal,
he does not remove his jacket
for her until they are back
at his place, the water dripping
through the ceiling, her mouth
hanging slack like something
he wants to tear open.

Mike, ask yourself what
you really want to tear
open: is it yourself
or some idea of love
that always involves breaking?
Ask yourself: if you do
what you are thinking
and you wake and knives
of sunlight tear you
into the day and she lies
unmoving next to you, broken,
ask yourself how you could ever
tear her up without eviscerating
something in yourself? Ask yourself:
why can you not wear her
black stilettos and exoskeletal
blue dress and be spun
in the deep voices of men
like spidersilk until you glisten
with the intent to be consumed?


Kenan Ince is a poet, math PhD student and activist from Dallas currently living in Houston. His poems have been published in Word Riot, Black Heart Magazine, and the Houston real estate blog Swamplot, among others. He was a juried poet in the 2013 Houston Poetry Fest and a featured reader at Houston’s First Friday series.