Anya AlkayevVolkov

Anya AlkayevVolkov Poems

Anya AlkayevVolkov Biography

Born in St. Petersburg, moved to Warszaw, Poland at the age of 4. Moved to Illinois at the age of 7. Fluent in Russian and Polish. Female. Going to school to become a professional operatic singer. -Coleratura Soprano-)

The Best Poem Of Anya AlkayevVolkov

The Roofie-Ghb-Gamma Hydroxybutric Acid

She wanted it.
That's what he said on the stand.
(a liquid with no odor or color, white powder, and pill)
So here's what must have really happened,
if what he says is true.

I was dancing, lithely, giving him
burning
passionate
come-hither looks

cup
after cup
after red plastic cup
gave him the confidence to
come over here with a new red plastic cup,
for me,
and say
'I'm Mitch. You wanna dance? '

And of course he doesn't want to brag
but, he's very handsome very-
-lucky with the ladies
He understands how a girl like me could have been
in shock
that he would choose me.

So we must've danced,
grinding hips, wandering hands.
I'm sure I never once said stop.
Then came the
'You wanna get out of here? '

Bedroom. Dorm room. Phi Beta Kappa.
Expensive clothes on the floor in heaps
like jews in the oven after being gassed.
Not cared for, not respected enough
to be given a proper buriel.

So then he pushed me on the bed,
the way I telapathically asked him to,
subconsciously,
then he crushed his lips to mine and
shoved his beer-coated tongue into my mouth
(just like i 'asked')

'Stop it! Please! ' I cried, jokingly of course,
when he unzipped his jeans and pulled it out
veiny and throbbing and utterly majestic, so he thinks.
I'm sure it added to the mood
the way I kicked and scratched and everything went
all hazy.

Then, when he was really going at it
I'm sure I said something like
'Stop! You're hurting me! ' as he tore repeatedly into my
quickly-becoming-damaged goods.
But it was just a come-on.
Lots of girls say stop
when they don't mean it.

I blacked out.

Then, ha ha, this is the funny part,
Then, when I woke up
I was still there, he was gone,
and I was covered in all these bruises,
like the petals of an orchid.
There was dry blood on my inner thighs,
some blood still wet.
He had left a note for me
'Great sex. Call me.'

So, really, I had wanted it.
Yes, your honor, the defendant is
right.
I wanted it. I asked, no, I begged him
for it.
Not out loud. With my actions, clearly.
Because lots of girls scream stop
and sob
and vomit
and don't mean it.
Lots of girls do that, your honor.

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