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What the Hell is She Complaining About 2010

Janet Kuypers
(poetry converted to prose)

    I can’t go around telling people about what you did to me. You see, nobody wants to hear it and nobody wants to hear a girl whining. What the hell’s she complaining about anyway? But you know, nobody knows the effects of what you’ve done. Nobody knows that I showered for weeks, no, months to try to feel clean after you did that to me. Nobody knows why I have violent fits of rage, how I’d hit the wall, rip up the plaster.
    You want to know what I think of men now? You want to know their place in my life now? You see, I didn’t know what else to do, so I became the rapist... And now I let men do nice things for me, but I always keep them at a safe distance. I never let them get too close, because I don’t care how nice you are i’ll always keep you at arm’s length. I learned my lesson.
    So yeah, you had an effect on me and I have to bottle it all up because no one wants to hear the details. I mean, I wasn’t physically injured, what the hell could I be complaining about anyway?
    But you know, there are times when I wish you left a mark, like a bee sting or something, so people could see a welt from what you had done.
    Wait, no, I take that back I’d wish I was stung by a bee and I was allergic to bees. Because then my blood pressure would drop, my pulse would get rapid, I’d fall into anaphylactic shock, my skin would turn white before I got the the hospital as they tried to keep me alive.
    All because of a bee sting.
    While everyone else is thinking, a bee sting, what the hell is she complaining about.

Chicago poet Janet Kuypers
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