statement

Their official words
wrapped around my hair and strained across my temple,
until their ink bled blue upon my skin.
Their words obscured my vision,
made it challenging to see, to walk,
without tripping over the flapping tongues of my too-large sandals.
Their judgement
rustled at my ears and tore apart,
laughed with satisfaction,
insistent that they knew what had happened
to me
and my body in a room no one else had been
insistent
that my words did not hold up in court
(as they had not held up before)
in a room no one else had been
insistent
that my statement was but white paper
lies
that I was willing to wear
out
in the street
and in the stand,
a hand made crown
that they could ridicule
grateful
that they didn’t have to meet my eyes