Attention
and other reasons why 
why we let ourselves get 
raped.

We all got raped for the
attention.
For a headline
For a front page
face ink stained from
sweat that crawls down
our backs when we sit up
from an another nightmare
where you don't hear us say
NO NO NO
but we like these dreams
asked for these dreams
sweaty and thick between
comforter where we fold ourselves
safe as pirogue filling--
mashed potato these bodies into 
midnight until there's no more
stains,
for the attention. 
You know-- the flashlight faces--
the stares of our fathers 
who tell reporters we're 
broken
we're 
different 
we're
shadow
We're
The magpies waiting to flush
And don't you dare call me sister
as if the only way fucking
me with my arms pinned down
would be wrong would be if we
were tied by blood
some sort of an incest
I'm not your fucking daughter
I'm not your mother
I'm a calliope of magpies--
ink-blotted dove-bodies refusing
to wear white
None of us were born virgins
you just taught us that's what
you wanted--
but it was too late because 
we were already little whores
who wanted your attention
attention attention--
Yes that's what we wanted Mr. Trump
Attention--
That's what I've always wanted--
You know?
I wanted hands and mouths 
and a collective of men yelling
at my body to give it attention--
grabbing my arms like purse straps
Like door knobs--
At least you have to invite a vampire 
inside for him to take everything.
We all started
to wear bras in fifth grade and by
the end of the first day the boys
already knew how to snap them--
lashes on the backs of girl bodies
learning to be quiet
and take the attention with grace
the fifth grade boys laughed because 
there was another 
place on our bodies for them to 
use as a handle--
I want you to yell at me from your car windows
I want you to call me "Baby"
Call me "Little dyke"
Scream "Yes, yes, mama, yes!"
I'm not your mother
and I have been raised to know
I'm not a human either-- We collect
dolls when we're young to teach
our daughters how to take
care of themselves when they
feel like everything has been 
siphoned from them--
close your eyes only when you lay down--
No-- not all of us had our arms pinned down
when you fucked us
but we all know 
what a car window is for 
and we all know what
dolls teach us about our bodies
and we all mash 
this skin like potatoes before 
we try to sleep-- pretend 
that there won't be nightmares--
sing like magpies from carved out gourds--
keep the underwear at the bottom of
the drawer-- don't wear the skirt
again but remember it folded in a triangle
on top of our dressers--
Yes we all came together here today
for the attention--
because one voice crying rape 
isn't loud enough and eight voices
lets us know it's just
another women's problem--
Another flock of magpies
the diagnosis of hysteria
asylum rooms cut out of the boxes
they squeeze us into along side
Cover Girl Ads in a People magazine
Pucker up and try to tell them
consent is sexy
because if nothing was in it for them
then what would the point be?
Yes, you've caught me.
You've caught all of us.
We did it for the attention.
We love the attention.
NO NO NO  
I'm not your mother.
I'm not your sister.
Don't you dare fucking
call me daughter.
You can call me shadow
Call me magpie--
Call me whore.
It's what you mean.