The Name I Cannot Say
An anonymous poem submission
A reflection on the fear of defamation, silence, and the impossible position survivors can be left in after
reporting rape but receiving no real justice.
The name I cannot say
By Anonymous
I know his name.
It sits behind my teeth, heavy as something unswallowed.
I did what you’re meant to do - reported, repeated, relived -
handing over pieces of myself as if that could build a case.
But the system didn’t hold it.
It slipped through quiet gaps dressed as process.
So I bury it - not gone, just contained beneath what the system left behind.
An investigation. No ending.
I want to say his name.
Not for me - for the next person.
Because silence feels like a risk I’m being made to pass on.
But the law is louder than the truth.
It circles back on me, a warning of its own - be careful what you say, be careful who you accuse.
As if the greater danger is my voice, not what he did.
So I stay quiet.
And that’s the part that sits heaviest - not just that he walks free,
but that I’m the one measuring my words, like they could cost me more
than it ever cost him.
