Editor’s note: Content warning — This poem contains graphic imagery and allusion to sexual assault. Reader discretion advised.
They called me a vulture because I believe survivors.
I will be the vulture.
I will pick apart the rotting meat that infects society with its disease.
First I will consume the rape apologists.
I will start with their eyes.
They are blind to abuse, so surely that is where the rot starts.
will proudly soar over the landscape,
wearing not a single feather on my head
so that I can plunge
in and tear the rot from this world.
will be one of the biggest birds in the sky.
People will mistake me for a hawk.
They will point,
They will shudder,
because they know I go where they could never,
and not only did I survive,
I will thrive
and grow stronger each time
I erase the rot and suffering and destruction
that others left unwitnessed.
will fear me
and see me as an omen,
They know when they die,
I will be there to feast,
to look inside them where none others have gazed,
then clean their corpse
and return their savagery and crimes to the ecosystem.
will restore the earth to balance
after the crimes they have rationalized and romanced
by not shying away
from the thick and bloated trauma stench.
I will not be alone, we will never be alone,
because vultures live together,
pair-bond apparent as we float the air currents.
They called me a vulture, because I believe survivors.
They were right.