Weinstein - When justice isn't what you expected

I have recently become aware that the 'weinstein' is now a word in the OED. It left me pondering how to apply it. A noun? 'He is such a weinstein, don't go near him'. A very useful social short-hand. An Adjective? 'I have never been in a room that felt so weinstein before'. I'm quite partial to this one. But, I think it would be put to better use as a verb. As in, 'I have been weinsteined'. Manipulated, abused, and coerced by a person more powerful than I.

I was weinsteined before we had a word for it. And, on the day that the titular arsehole was arrested, and we celebrated along waited for liberty for Irish women, I found out that my abuser had met something approximating to just deserts. His company was shut down and he is potentially on his way to keeping Mr W company in prison.

Huh, not what I expected. For the longest time I have wanted to see that man taken away by blue flashing lights, but I didn't think it would be like this. So, how do I feel? I can't tell you at the moment. How do I feel that Harvey Weinstein is now a part of the cultural lexicon? I can't tell you at the moment. I can't deny that I didn't smile. I can't deny that I didn't let out a gleeful yet bitter laugh. Both of these punishments have problematic ramifications that deserve to be looked into. But, for now, maybe I should just be satisfied with karma, and keep working on expunging his stain from my life. 


My witches mark
Iodine coloured stain
Under my left breast
Denotes where you made your first incision

Sebastian's subtle arrow
Snapped at the hilt
Left to rot
Like an embedded splinter

No amount of washing
Can cleanse me of your smell
A chemical burn to the nostrils that
Erodes my brain like acid

Rusting the precious metals till
All that’s left is your etched in memory
And scar tissue blackened
By rot

The plaster you slapped on
Over the sore
Did not stop me from noticing
How it festers

One putrefied fig cleaved open emits
The sweet smell of decay which is
Intolerable to none
But me

You are the bulging buboes that I
Should lance but
No amount of dried herbs and smoke can stop
Contamination through osmosis

Revolted by the sight
I bind it with clean gauze
And wait to see if
It will devour me whole

There is no balm or salve to apply
No chalky pill or rose and mercury to choke down
It has to be invasive
Your tumour must be cut out

It is time
Your cancer cannot be allowed to spread
Cannot escape my bloody fingers
As they search for you in the darkness

In the meantime you hide
Straddling my brain and
Plucking at my optic nerve
You haunt my perifers

A shadow on my future but you cannot hide indefinitely.

I’ll rip my eyes out

If I have to.