Sheri Kuzco

'IT WASN'T fine when you were in your own bed in your own room for two whole months three years ago, and two months is sixty days and sixty nights and one thousand four hundred and forty hours and eighty-six thousand and four hundred minutes and out of all this time, you don't even remember how long it hurt and how hard he touched you, but you know he did... and you know you only fought back the first night and the second and the third but two months is a long time its sixty days and sixty nights and one thousand four hundred and forty hours and eighty-six thousand and four hundred minutes and if you only fought back three times well the other fifty-seven, he probably thought you were into it...two months is so long, it's long, it's hard and it hurts, everything hurts, and you know you can still trace his scratches on your thighs and sometimes you do but it's the worst thing you could do to yourself...you come back from two months and one thousand four hundred and forty hours and eighty-six thousand and four hundred minutes...you take a deep breath and you breathe and you live'

'But marital rape is fine. Yet, I am silenced. For all we boil down to is sexual interaction. Not just me, my mother, sisters, friends, all quicken their pace post 8.30 in the evening...So I wear my jeans long and wear my tops high. Don't show my cleavage or a hint of my thighs. Don't want to be mistaken for wanting it. Cause if I wear less, I'm more than just flaunting it, I'm risking it. Risking not my virginity, but my life...Not as pure as I was before...Pucker up, it's a mad design, get in line. So what I'm trying to say here tonight is, I'm sorry I was brought up in a family where my brother taught me wrong from right.'

'I am on a rape schedule It's after 10, the city is receding... A murmur of ‘go home' is in the air, Audible only to my ear... My husband said I should be back by 11 I should have been in bed by 10... Because I am on a rape schedule.... it's forty minutes to home With every passing second... a highly consequential, highly avoidable fate is met... Because I am on a rape schedule... everyday that I follow the schedule and everyday that I come home.'

'My love, my husband, who after a tiresome day of work comes back home to his wife. He says he love me... because most people don't know how tough It is to create the perfect household for your family. He opens the bedroom door and Im lying on the bed... He walks over to me, He starts unbuttoning his shirt, taking off his tie, He looks at me. I get up to help. I say no. Im sorry for having cramps in my stomach. But, its okay. I'm sure he'll understand, because he says he loves me. So I whisper into his ear the state my body is in. He laughs it off and looks at me and he says, "Ill manage something out." I look at him and say "There is nothing that needs to be managed, but my body is in no state to make any love to you." He pushed me into the bed and jumps on me. As if.. As if. Making love to him wasn't an option, but an obligation. He says he loves me. So it didn't matter what state my body was in. I had to. It was my duty. I hated this quality about my husband, he was really dominating both in bed and in the marriage. But he slept early that night and I didnt. Because it hurt… But love hurts right? So the next morning he wakes up and wants tea in bed… I request him to make the tea. But he says no. So I make the tea. Because that also what love is about, right? Understanding when your partner says no. But my no had lesser value than his no. And it's justified because he earns for the family and I don't. But what happened last night, Repeated tonight. Marital Rape. How could it be rape if we were married? He said he loved me, but that wasnt true was it, becaue he hurt me. But you could have said no to him when you felt unwell… and you could have said no to him, because you just didn't want to. So many many wives have been victim of marital rape for years... and so many young boys have been taught this crime as a ritual... So many young daughter have been trained to fulfill their duties towards their spouses.'

'At the age of eleven. Twelve. When my mom first told me that boys would want to touch me. Would want to put their hands in between my thighs, or lay them across my breast. I was confident she was wrong. When I later began to understand what rape meant, and the kind of strength it took to fight it. I was confident that I was strong enough to fight it. When I was taught the importance of the word "No". I was confident I would never have to use it. And even if I did, somehow the power in that syllable, seems to be incomprehensible. Consent, they said was what mattered. And it seemed like, if I didn't give it, no one would dare to lay a hand on me. I found myself repeating to myself in the mirror. "No, no, no, no, no" confident that I was loud enough to be heard. And finally, someday, when my breasts were fuller and my hips wider To be held, encircled, by two firm, clasping hands. I found that he had the confidence to take what he wanted. To view my body as his right. Confident that if my no was soft, "No, no, no, No" it was a yes.