Friday, September 04, 2015

Ode to Margaret Cho

I’ve always liked comedian Margaret Cho. I saw her perform in Fairfield, CT, a few years ago. After reading the interview by Danielle Bacher, Margaret Cho Gets Deep About Past Sexual Abuse: 'All I Have Is Ownership of My Own Suffering,’ for Billboard, I like her even more.

Jessica Chou from Billboard
There is such an honesty in her art and performance. She is someone who it seems is truly being real and being herself. She has found a way to express herself through different media—comedy, song and prose—as she needs them.

I see her as a role model: she says what she thinks and feels and experiences without a filter and then finds ways to express and heal through her art.

This piece is inspired by hearing Cho talk about her childhood abuse. She helps me feel like I don’t have to censor myself so much. She makes me feel empowered to express what’s real.


The rope he used to tie
my thin white arms
behind my back.
He leads me into small cold bedroom,
pushes me down onto dirty sheets—
ones his mother gave him with little yellow flowers.

It’s dark except for slants of light
crossing in from living room.
I’m on my stomach,
choking on flying feather balls.
Tears are soaking the pillow.
He ties my ankles together;   
it hurts, it cuts into my skin.

He opens the left side door of his closet
takes out his brown leather belt

it was hanging there

he’s making sniffling sounds
I can smell his Marlboro
I am crying and I am saying
do it do it do it whatever it takes
whip me whip me
the words pathetic, clichéd,
but that is what I said
he is he is he is he is he is he is whipping me  
honestly and it makes this slapping sound
this cutting feeling on my back
on my buttocks
I didn’t know he’d do it
so hard and he keeps it on going
now I’m saying      
please stop I love you oh god oh please oh stop  you’re high you don’t know when to stop

then just like that I hear the belt’s buckle
clink on the tile floor and he walks
out of the room and I smell his cigarette
smoke again.  I peer back over my shoulder
but it’s too dark to see the welts
then there he is his face
pink red and his blonde hair spiky
he stares at me with cold marble eyes
takes his belt off, pants off
I’m crying and he comes
over to me and fucks
me from behind
while I’m crying lying there

This is what rape feels like.  

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