When she tells you no, you don't believe her
Why don't you believe her?
She doesn't want your hand in hers,
She doesn't want your mouth pressed to her ear,
She doesn't want to hear you pant or moan her name,
In fact, she'd rather plug her ears with thick, wet cement
When she tells you she didn't like what was happening, you don't believe her
Why don't you believe her?
She doesn't want a lover like this,
She doesn't have a lover like this,
This is not love; this is bruises on wrists, and thighs, and places no one can see,
He is not cute, he is not funny, and he did not — does not have permission to run his big, dirty hands along her rib cage,
So close to heart that it beats faster, like a metal detector, going off the chain over a rusty nail
When she tells you she tried to stop it, you don't believe her
Why don't you believe her?
Sure, maybe her mouth was zipped, but her pants were supposed to be, too,
She clenches her teeth as she hear the slide of the zipper, tooth by tooth,
She couldn't get the words out from her stomach to her chest to her throat to her mouth and out into his face, but her hands pushing his away should've been enough
When she tells you it happened in class, you don't believe her
Why don't you believe her?
She sits right in front of the blind teacher's desk,
She's surrounded by people who knew, who should've said "this was no accident,
We saw it,
Over and over again
We couldn't say anything then,
But we're saying it now"
When she tells you it was a boy on the football team, you don't believe her
Why don't you believe her?
They are trained to tackle, to take what they want,
To be paraded and praised for leisurely violence,
To press up against unsuspecting giants — sophomore girls are easy
When she tells you she doesn't want attention — not his, not theirs, not even yours — you don't believe her
Why don't you believe her?
He placed the knife there in the first place,
But each time she opens her mouth, to call someone to finally yank it out, she's cut off by oh my gosh he's so cute! You're so lucky he's into you!
Every sidelong glance drives the knife in deeper, twisting and swirling the weapon further and further in
When she tells you it's taken months to finally, finally edge that blade out, you don't believe her,
When she tells you that no matter how hard she tries, every time she closes her eyes, she can still see it, still feel it, you don't believe her,
When she tells you she always wanted to find her place in the world — that she just didn’t want it to be beneath his crushing weight, you don’t believe her,
When she tells you she wished it hadn't happened, that it didn't feel like a compliment, you don't believe her,
When she tells you it happened to other girls, too, you don't believe her, but
When I tell you it happened to me,
please,
please
believe me
Why don't you believe her?
She doesn't want your hand in hers,
She doesn't want your mouth pressed to her ear,
She doesn't want to hear you pant or moan her name,
In fact, she'd rather plug her ears with thick, wet cement
When she tells you she didn't like what was happening, you don't believe her
Why don't you believe her?
She doesn't want a lover like this,
She doesn't have a lover like this,
This is not love; this is bruises on wrists, and thighs, and places no one can see,
He is not cute, he is not funny, and he did not — does not have permission to run his big, dirty hands along her rib cage,
So close to heart that it beats faster, like a metal detector, going off the chain over a rusty nail
When she tells you she tried to stop it, you don't believe her
Why don't you believe her?
Sure, maybe her mouth was zipped, but her pants were supposed to be, too,
She clenches her teeth as she hear the slide of the zipper, tooth by tooth,
She couldn't get the words out from her stomach to her chest to her throat to her mouth and out into his face, but her hands pushing his away should've been enough
When she tells you it happened in class, you don't believe her
Why don't you believe her?
She sits right in front of the blind teacher's desk,
She's surrounded by people who knew, who should've said "this was no accident,
We saw it,
Over and over again
We couldn't say anything then,
But we're saying it now"
When she tells you it was a boy on the football team, you don't believe her
Why don't you believe her?
They are trained to tackle, to take what they want,
To be paraded and praised for leisurely violence,
To press up against unsuspecting giants — sophomore girls are easy
When she tells you she doesn't want attention — not his, not theirs, not even yours — you don't believe her
Why don't you believe her?
He placed the knife there in the first place,
But each time she opens her mouth, to call someone to finally yank it out, she's cut off by oh my gosh he's so cute! You're so lucky he's into you!
Every sidelong glance drives the knife in deeper, twisting and swirling the weapon further and further in
When she tells you it's taken months to finally, finally edge that blade out, you don't believe her,
When she tells you that no matter how hard she tries, every time she closes her eyes, she can still see it, still feel it, you don't believe her,
When she tells you she always wanted to find her place in the world — that she just didn’t want it to be beneath his crushing weight, you don’t believe her,
When she tells you she wished it hadn't happened, that it didn't feel like a compliment, you don't believe her,
When she tells you it happened to other girls, too, you don't believe her, but
When I tell you it happened to me,
please,
please
believe me
