Sierra DeMulder: Paper Dolls

 Hello to all the lovely creatures out there!

Today's post comes a little different, in the essence that when we are talking about art, I'd like to be more inclusive to other forms of making art that a lot of people seem to forget that they exist. So today I'm presenting you Sierra DeMulder!

Sierra DeMulder is an internationally-recognized poet, educator, and podcast host. She is a two-time National Poetry Slam champion, a five-time published author. Some of her works: The Bones Below, New Shoes on a Dead Horse, We Slept Here, Today Means Amen and Ephemera.

In this blog I tend to bring themes about artists who talk or create artworks about sensitive issues to raise awareness as it is with sexual assault. DeMulder, as a poet and writer herself, created a poem addressing sexual assault with the title Paper Dolls. I wanted to share it with you, as I find it explains beautifully so much about such an issue, and because I also would like for us to be aquainted with artists not only with mediums such as brushes and materials, but also words. Never forget words can hold tremendous power as well. 

Paper Dolls

We are taught

from the moment we leave our pink nurseries

we are collapsible paper dolls:

light to hold, easier to crumple.

That as women, our worth lives secretly

wrapped in lace and cotton panties,

our fragility armored in pepper spray and mace.

They say one in three women will be raped

or sexually abused in their lifetime.

I am one of three daughters.

Imagine each vistim is an acrobat.

Her sanity, a balancing act.

Our response is the infailing safety net.

We never expect to see her across the wire.

You weren't just violated, we tell her,

you are an empty museum, a gutted monument

to what used to hold so much worth.

With best intentions we tell her to reclaim it,

put a price tag on her rape and own it.

Don't stand too tall, don't act too strong.

We will name you denial.

Come back when you are ready to crumble

like your bones are made of chalk.

You can only laught cutely or cry beautifully,

so cry beautifully.

We will catch you.

We are calling it theft,

as if he could pluck open your ribs like cello strings,

pocket your breasts, steal what makes your heart flutter

and tack its wings to his wall.

Some days you will feel dirty.

Some weeks you'll remember how hard it is to breathe in public,

but know this:

the person who did this to you is broken. Not you.

The person who did this to you is out there,

choking on the glass of his chest.

It is a windshield

and his heartbeat is a baseball bat:

regret this, regret this.

Nothing was stolen from you.

Your body is not a hand-me-down.

There is nothing that sits inside you holding your worth,

no locket that can be seen or touched,

fucked from your stomach to be left on concrete.

I know it's hard to feel perfect

when you can't tell an Adam's apple from a fist.

Some ashtray of a man picked you to play his Eden

but I will not watch you collapse.

Please do not ever forget that you are not alone. We are all here with you, and nevet forget to seek help when you need it, you are stronger than you may think, even if you don't believe this at first.

I'll see you in a next post and as always thank you for reading! Stay safe my loves!

xoxoxo