Don’t you give me raw meat
and tell me it is nourishment,
I know a slaughterhouse when I see one
– Brenna Twohy
Hailing from Portland, Oregon Brenna Twohy’s performance was one of the highlights of the 2014 National Poetry Slam take took place in Oakland last month.
Her poem ‘Fantastic Breasts and Where to Find Them,’ a powerful combination that is part homage to Harry Potter and part feminist response to porn and male aggression, is a stark reminder of the sexual madness that still permeates our male-dominated culture.
Just her coming up with the term ‘Potterotica’ was enough to get my vote.
[youtube]http://youtu.be/bXey2_i7GOA[/youtube]
Here is the text of the poem in full:
Ask me what kind of porn I’m into,
and I will take you on a magical journey to
fanfiction.com/harrypotter/nc17—
What turns me on
is Ginny Weasley in the Restricted Section with her skirt hiked up,
Sirius Black in a secret passageway
solemnly swearing he is up to no good,
and Draco Malfoy
in the Room of Requirement
Slytherin in to my Chamber of Secrets,
I am an unapologetic consumer of
all things Potterotica,
and the sexiest part
is not the way
Cho Chang rides that broomstick,
or the sound of Myrtle moaning,
the sexiest part
is knowing they are part of a bigger story,
that they exist beyond eight minutes in
“Titty Titty Gang Bang,”
that their kegels
are not the strongest thing about them,
and still,
I am told that my porn is unrealistic.
Not quite as erotic
as flashing ads that say “JUST TURNED 18!”
so you can fantasize about fucking
the youngest girl you won’t go to jail for;
I’m told that my porn isn’t quite as lifelike
as a room full of lesbians begging for cock,
told that this
is what is supposed to turn me on,
Don’t you give me raw meat
and tell me it is nourishment,
I know a slaughterhouse when I see one.
It looks like 24/7 live streaming
reminding me
that men are going to fuck me
whether I like it or not,
that there is one use for my mouth
and it is not speaking,
that a man is his most powerful
when he’s got a woman by the hair;
The first time a man I loved
held me by the wrists and called me a whore,
I did not think, “RUN.”
I thought, “This is just like the movies,”
I know a slaughterhouse when I see one.
It looks like websites and seminars
teaching you how to fuck more bitches;
Looks like 15-year-old boys
bullied for being virgins;
It looks like the man who did not flinch
when I said “Stop,”
and he heard, “try harder,”
If you play-act at butchery long enough
you grow used to
the sounds of the screaming.
It is just a side effect of industry;
Everything gets cut
into small, marketable pieces,
you can almost forget
they were ever real bodies.
I will not practice bloody hands.
I will not make-believe dissected women.
My sex cannot be packaged,
my sex is magic,
it is part of a bigger story;
I am whole.
I exist when you are not fucking me,
and I will not be cut into pieces
anymore.
piece in Mic. – This Woman’s Slam Poetry Has Gone Unexpectedly and Brilliantly Viral