What happened to the girl who walked into
The park, the girl who was followed, by a man
Who couldn’t think straight, by a man who longed
For her to be alone, on her own, to become his, for
A moment that would destroy her faith in fairy tales,
A moment when he made his body part of hers and
Left his remnants within her, like a fire that can never
Be extinguished, what happened to that girl, what could
You tell that girl about the world she walked into without
Fear and suspicion?
People would adjust their behaviour around men like him.
Stay out of the park. Girls and women. On their own.
Men needed to be present. Men the protectors. Men the
Perpetrators. How could you know? How could you tell?
Demonising men, the demons within women had been neglected.
How could you ever tell who wanted to harm you? She associated
Horror with his sex, pain, wounds, the inexplicable, the wordless.
They gave him a doll to play with, to exhaust, to exploit.
A doll that looked like her. A doll that looked like a child.
There were so many like him out there. They would act
Nevertheless. No matter how much one would punish them.
No matter how much one would engulf them in darkness
Trying to control them, banish them, they would come back,
Some wouldn’t act, some would keep still, some would hold
The dolls really tightly, mouths open, against their body,
Complying, smiling, subservient, unresponsive, playdough,
Pretending, would it be enough, would it be contained,
Would dolls keep girls safe looking so alike?
Croque-Melpomene 