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Mary E. Lee
Honors English 12
Mrs. Overmoyer
January 9, 2004

Thesis: Pornography, and its obsession of excessive emptiness, instills values onto viewers that lead to and sometimes ignite a sexually violent mentality.

I. Overview of Pornography
A. Definition (5)
B. Media
1. Literature
2. Photography
3. Film
C. History

II. Overview of Sexual Violence in the United States
A. Rape
1. Definition
2. Laws
B. Victims
1. Statistics
a. Pennsylvania
(1.) In 2001, 3,139 reports of forcible rape (80)
(2.) 82.8 percent of Rape Crisis clients female (79)
b. General
(1.) Most costly to victims, $127 billion yearly (77)
(2.) 54 percent of victims, first rape before 18 (75)
(3.) 70 percent of victims, know attacker (74)
(4.) 1/4 girls will be sexually assualted by 18 (72)
C. Rapists

posted by Mary 1:50 PM
leaning there,
against your car
you kissed me
whispered into my ear
like love,
you said,
falling into paradise
into unlimited
unlimited love

and maybe
the unhappy people were right
after all
fools rush in

but ive already come to terms
that im a fool
in pain
in love

in love

id rather be
a fool in love

posted by Mary 3:54 PM
all that is of my savior
IS his love,
his spirit,
and yes,
his blood

i feel it

sometimes sad
with overpowering guilt

i feel it

sometimes joyless
with tiring devotions

but mostly,
i feel it
as ecstacy
as a thundering calling
as a grace itself

i feel it

posted by Mary 9:11 PM
Looking back at the photographs, I see the same distant look in your eyes. It was as if you had been born with sorrow. You kept it in your heart forever, unleashing it the only way you knew how. It took so long to learn how to cry, and then how not to.

Hard to believe that you were once a baby, harder to see that you were an unhappy one. Those smoky blue eyes concentrating on something off frame still chill me today. All I can think of is what they were forced to see. I want to gather you in my arms, take you away to some place greater that you would eventually go. I want to hold you, to feel you breathe; to know that you're alive.

Your third Christmas, you had hide among the boxes and wrapping paper. When the camera finally found you, you spared no smile. Pale and blonde, you look as you always do, about to cry, but fighting back every voice telling you to let go. You remained defiant. Your tight little mouth wants to scream, "Go away. . . . but don't forget me. Don't leave me to face this alone."

Four and in the bathtub, you stare at the lens from the corner of your eye. A crown of light surrounds your head, and you are a reluctant angel. Still no smile, not even the slimmest of grins, yet emotion fills your eyes. Always sad and enigmatic, they serve as a shocase for your pain. You seem to be bracing yourself to go under the warm water, never to return.

Your sixth birthday seems to be the only happy memory. You smile, pure yet contained. Your mother holding you tight, you felt her love seeping through as warmth. You could feel her smiling cheeks against yours. You knew that you were finally home.

Your smoky eyes still burn at me through the mirror. We still hate one another. I haven't smiled in a decade; we haven't cried since we were two. We still lock everything away, and struggle to fight back the pain. We ignore the strangers. We refuse to tell them of the hate that feeds us, of the secrets that throw us down, of how we would die if they only knew all that we've seen, all that we've done.

No. . . .
We'll remain scared and abused.

posted by Mary 7:05 PM
when i was with you
enchantment died
the forest was just
a bed for which we lied

we were naked
cold and rigid
trembling in our
slumber bag
you were nervous
something i
couldnt have

you sweet you
you dried my tears
you sweet you
then left me to fear
the end
you would look at me
and say,
it was a mistake
but i thank
you for everything

i thank you
for everything

posted by Mary 5:11 PM
i see my feet
with beauty

small and white like porcelain
with a circular scar
gracing each ankle
the curve of each toe
ends in an unpainted nail
i study the series
of delicate creases
that stretch around the bend of my heel
i touch
the softness of their tops
and the subtle coarseness
of their bottoms

i see my feet
with beauty,
as if i've never seen them

posted by Mary 5:07 PM
i see angels
who have forgotten
just how to fly
they've bound
their wings tightly around
their chests
letting their spirits
choke and die

i see angels
who have forgotten
how to love
their halos are broken
and shattered
from the tragic fall
from above

i see angels
who have forgotten
their faith
their trumpets stiff
from neglet
as if they've been stolen
by some troublesome wraith

i see angels. . . .

i see angels
who have forgotten how to fly...

posted by Mary 5:04 PM
i am greek
and you are roman

with your chisled
roman nose

with my round
greek cheeks

i am greek
and you are roman

we are classics
you and i

in out beauty
that now,
the world shames
how dare
a woman
have curves
how dare
a man
have sensitivity and grace

posted by Mary 5:00 PM