Poetry- Lucy Mackarel

In Memorial 

I have never been to a funeral,
I have, however mourned a body.
In a room with brown walls and a window to the road.
It was his bedroom and the body was my own.

Knees on carpet as though I were praying.
This act though, was anything but holy.
A position of submission, how fitting.
I felt like I had lost.

What was I supposed to do?
He was begging me.
How could I say no to my own boyfriend?
When he was begging me.

Thinking back I realise,
He was begging me..
While he pushed me to my knees
and forced my head down silently.

I would shake my head and gag.
As he laughed.
I would carry on though.
He’d be annoyed otherwise.
He already had so much he’d criticise.

I couldn’t do it.
I fell backwards with a thud.
I was blinking back tears,
I was apologising,
I was fighting back bile.

I have never been to a funeral.
I have, however felt part of me die.
In a room with curtains always closed and an iron bed painted white.
Where he violates me, telling me he loves me.

He orders me to open my legs,
I ask him to stop,
He asks if it hurts,
That’s his concern.
I say no.


It doesn’t physically pain me,
But he is hurting me.
I want to go,
I make excuses that his mother will be home.
He says she won’t.
Suddenly he has time.

I am haunted by brown walls,
The floor by the door,
I will not, I cannot forget.

Side Road

I do not hate you nor do I blame you.
Although you have hurt me,
and if I never have to see your face again,
It will still be too soon.

I have to see your face.

So I am forced to remember a dark side road,
That you refer to as ‘our place’
But I know this as a place where I do not feel safe.
I do not feel safe.

Let me walk you through my shame.

You remove my top though I tell you no.
You put our hands places I do not want them to go and I tell you so,
I told you so!
But you’re the one in control and my hands,
My hands are not my own.

“Just the tip” you later tried,
I said no; you asked me why,
Why? Why? 
Why do I have to justify?!

We are interrupted when your friends ring,
I don’t feel disappointed I feel relieved!
But.. you don’t pick up, put the phone on silent,
I am silent. I want to scream.
I want to go, instead I ask you ‘can we leave?’

We’re still standing there..
On this dark tree lined side road,
You push yourself against me you have decided,
If I won’t do it you’ll use me to do it yourself.

I ignore it. I am divided.

Finally we have no choice but to run,
You laughing, asking do I feel alive,
As though this is fun.
I feel like crying. I do not feel safe.
I feel ashamed.

Listen to me.
I have to look at you.
You must listen to me,
Relive this with me.

We are not even.
We will never be even.
With the pieces of me that you have taken,
And I am broken.
I am broken.

There Are No Words

She sits in silence,
Having discovered my poetry online,
She has nothing to say, she wouldn’t know where to start.

But I do,
These poems are my silent screams.
When I want nothing more than to scream ‘Rapist!’ across the room at you.

That is not the right word.
But I don’t have a word for boys who push their girlfriend’s head between their legs,
Or put their fingers in places they are not wanted.

I only have your name.
I have your name and I must swallow it.
Because if I say it,
This becomes real.

And it leaves my nightmares,
It enters everyday life.
There will be no escape,
And I am already so ashamed.

There are no words,
That they can say,
To wash away what has been done,

So we sit in silence.

About The Poet

Work from emerging Irish poet Lucy Mackarel

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Editor of Abhaile, Tracy Gaughan is constantly searching for fresh and innovative voices in poetry from Ireland or The United Kingdom: Submit to Abhaile.


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