Iolanthe Woulff, click here
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When I first posted this in a long-vanished online poetry forum, it caused a bit of a stir. Some readers offered positive commentary, but others seemed highly incensed by what they perceived to be my exploitative presumption. In any case, make of it what you will.
So long, Mister Hot Pants. You have a nice ride.
You ain't gonna have many more.
I sure hope you like your new life there Inside;
fun 'n games, Mister Rapist, in store!
You won't be too hard for the big boys to find.
Oh, they'll getcha! You count on it, buddy.
Sometime in the night you'll be grabbed from behind
and get gang-raped until you drip bloody.
You'll struggle and squirm while they pull down your pants,
which will just make them laugh with delight.
They'll call you a girl and they'll beg you to dance
while your shrieks go unheard in the night.
Dry-heaving with terror and straining with pain,
while your guts are injected with hate;
violation by filth branded into your brain...
Sounds like fun, huh? I'll bet you can't wait.
As soon as they're done they will toss you aside
like old garbage. And that's what you are.
The day you attacked me my happiness died.
Now it's your turn. I hope you go far.
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|Reviewed by Victoria's Poetry & Voices of Muse
|I smile...must be my eye for an eye attitude on nthis topic
and my belief in Street Justice!
Now if only we can beat his a**...with bare hands?
surely...break some knee caps...
oh...the wicked thoughts...but ultimately
it would be nice...you know really nice to take any rapist
especially child molesters & slice thier ---- off
place it in thier mouth & then grab the all handy reliable duct tape...
Oh...I like your poetic release
Street Justice Never Sleeps...