Blurred Lines

A pedestrian walks over an illustration to draw attention to domestic violence against women, on International Women's Day in central Istanbul

line between art

and hate

drawn in chalk

on the asphalt

has become blurred


by the feet that straddle it

insisting that all is fair

in creative expression

and war

do you get off sexually

on the violent images

you paint so graphically

of dismembered women’s bodies

reduced to objects


for your craft?

or is it the thrill of attention you seek

from those who

break complicit silence

voice their outrage?

I sense an air of self-satisfied

intellectual superiority

from self-declared


smugly letting the protests

roll off your back

confident in the belief

that we are unworthy wannabes

who cannot possibly appreciate your brilliance

your importance

as a true artiste

perhaps my resistance

to acknowledging  your poetry as high art

(literary snuff porn came to my mind)

means I am a delicate little snowflake


I can live with that


© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved

20 thoughts on “Blurred Lines

    • I suspect that I eventually going to have to deal directly with self-aggrandizing fuck. I took a class last Spring with a very talented young gay male poet at Penn and this same man wrote a poem, dedicating it publicly to my classmate, written from the perspective of the shooter at Pulse nightclub! I am sickened by this targeted hate directed at a 22 year old gay man.

      Liked by 3 people

  1. I appear to have missed the provocation for this piece, which I am not particularly sad about, given that it sounds like it would have turned my stomach and provoked ranting.
    Nonetheless, this is amazing. The absolute perfect warrior acknowledgement of being a delicate snowflake at heart. Rock on with the badassedness!
    And yell if this perv needs confronting.

    Liked by 2 people

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