My rapist’s name is David
Not the one who fought Goliath
My rapist has no courage

Not the everyday Davids
The ones that you might know
I’m sorry he has the same name

I’m sorry if your David is nice
Not all Davids are rapists
But mine was, yes

The David who raped me
Is not my cousin
Who is always friendly
With crinkly eyes
His name is David too

Nor my uncle
Who tells the best stories
And has lived an interesting life

And certainly not my Dad’s best friend
Who I’ve known since birth
He is a sweet and gentle man

There are so many Davids
And only one of them raped me

The David who raped me
I renamed Asshole
Twenty-five years ago
It felt right and fitting
To dehumanise a monster
Yet every time I said it
(Many thousands of times)
It felt like spewing bile
A green-yellow acid
A chaser to the vomit
Of his name
Asshole
But cursing kept him hidden
A shadow, a swear word
Until it marked my soul
Leaving stains like his semen
Which he forced me to swallow
That burnt my wet soft throat
And tinted it with fear
A crusty yellow substance
On my milky white breasts
A cracking stinky mask
Barely concealing his hatred
His ownership of me

I remember:
The cold of the toilet seat
Goose pimples on my arse
My bodysuit snapped open
At the crotch by his fingers
Giving in to his will
With deadness in my head
Mute limpness in my limbs
I was a thing to use up
His knowing grin and laugh
That twinkle in his eye
A psychopath’s pleasure
In knowing that he’d had me

My rapist’s name is David
And some of you might know him
In telling you his name
I open up the box
The fear was never mine
I let the shame float out
It soars and it mingles with fresh air

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10 thoughts on “His Name is David

        1. It was time to be honest. I’ve written about this experience in distressed and angry, graphic detail before, but it seemed time to name him, and in doing so, hopefully heal some more.

          Liked by 1 person

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