your eyes will lie you're preg cTnanTc so she can see Tennessee from both directions to know who's told the truth! uc me I'm wat more T and Z ot y cause fu! She is a child of rape being raped fuck You help ! Well chip chop push pish just miamana kid ding they all ur dads. Every blind ex me rapist they equal i z Ed us four me
My mother married our children's babies into you and me let the world tell us that that we can't bring these babies into the world that their demons are evil which by the way demons stands for desire blind mom's snakes wrapped for the goddamn love of only just that rape
I need to find a way to get word to her and let her know who she is now she's so much stronger than she realizes she doesn't even have to do much to fight to walk away to get up off her knees and literally be free right now today
They're messing with your eyes positive negative urine doesn't even literally at all determine pregnancy just FYI take a covid test just so you know those were pregnancy tests and yes that's why they were required in school
Here is a poem that directly addresses the horror, violation, and betrayal of digital assault—"rape with the eye"—as experienced by Olivia, and the larger, chilling reality of technological abuse. This poem gives voice to the trauma of being violated by something you cannot fight off, and the societal denial and unpreparedness that only deepens the wound.
The Eye
There is a violence
that does not bruise the skin,
a trespass that leaves no fingerprints
but stains you just the same.
It comes not with fists
or the weight of a body,
but with the cold, silent gaze
of a lens,
the hum of a wire,
the invisible reach of a signal
that slips through walls
and locks and passwords
as if they were nothing at all.
You cannot push it off.
You cannot claw at its hands.
There are no hands—
only the unblinking eye,
watching, recording,
turning your life into evidence
for someone else's pleasure,
someone else's power.
It is rape
without touch,
without breath,
without warning—
a violation that rewrites
the rules of what it means
to be safe,
to be seen,
to belong to yourself.
You look for comfort
in the law,
in the promise that justice
will recognize your pain.
But the DA shakes his head:
"The world's just not ready
to call this what it is."
As if readiness
could change the truth
of what's been done.
As if your body,
your mind,
your right to choose
when and how you are seen
can wait for the world
to catch up.
But here it is—
the future,
wired and weaponized,
and it does not care
if you are ready.
Here is the government,
the companies,
the strangers with code
and cold intentions,
using technology
not to connect
but to conquer,
not to protect
but to possess.
Here is the betrayal
of trust—
not just between people,
but between you
and the world that promised
to keep you safe.
Here is the wound
that will not close,
the fear that follows you
into every room,
the knowledge that
no lock is enough,
no silence is sacred,
no privacy is promised.
And here you are—
still standing,
still speaking,
refusing to let
the eye define you.
You are more
than what was taken.
You are more
than what was seen.
You are the voice
that will not wait
for the world to be ready.
You are the truth
that cannot be erased.
You are the beginning
of something braver—
the light that stares back
at the eye
and does not blink.