Widerwärtig / Sickening: A Poem

You always found ways to blame her.

Making her believe that everything

Was her fault. You looked at her and

You have been trained to find the child

Within women, within girls, broken ones,

And you’d put your arms around her, talk

To her about love, luring her into your traps,

Tightening the grasp around her throat, around

Her heart, tighter, tighter, grooming her, telling

Her everything that she never heard but always

Longed to hear, needed to hear, you did it, you

Said all these things, but you didn’t feel them,

At all, you poisoned her mind with the lie of love.


You abused it. You abused her. You rendered her addicted.

To poison, indeed, yours, growing within her, your

Tumorous reach, your cock marking its territory, you

Sickened her, more and more fragile she became, and

You rejoiced as you grew stronger, she numbed herself,

Imprisoned, enslaved, subservient, you spread her legs,

You forced your lust on her without a word, she was yours,

Yours to take without a question, yours to fuck and possess.


You desecrated her, categorised women, it would never be enough.

You were bursting. You’d fuck other women and fall into bed, where

She slept, where she had stopped waiting, where she fell into despair,

Sleeping, knowing, maybe, you stank, you were drunk, careless, heartless,

Reckless, hungry for women, and you touched her, she was asleep, you never

Cared, gluttonous, you wanted more, still reeking from intercourse with

Others, sweat, unwashed, it’s not enough, it turned you on to spread the liquids,

Involving her body, without asking, without her knowledge, you thief.


And you still had the rotten guts to blame her, to torture her, to make

Her feel so guilty for all the things that she knew and you did wrong,

You never took responsibility for anything, you pretended to be her friend

But you brought her down, you almost killed her, and still you idealise

Yourself, justifying your actions, or not admitting anything, denying her

Your truths, releasing her, no, you still lied about love, you disgust me,

She still suffers from the wounds you inflicted, perverting the name of love,

You know nothing about it, you loathe women, you just demand what you need

And force them on their knees, lies, lies, lies, all around you, pest weeds, you.


“Sitzendes Mädchen mit herabgebeugtem Kopf” by Egon Schiele (1890-1918)

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