Blaine

i don’t
remember you
most of the time.

It was
2005, or 6

& you worked
at Starbucks.

I didn’t
remember
your name,
but you
knew mine.

you messaged me
on AIM, like
we did back then.

I was
inexperienced,
and you knew
just
what to say.

i didn’t
especially
like you,

but you had
a strong jaw
and my
expectations
were low

-if not,
nonexistent.

you invited
me over
to go in
your hot tub
late at night.

i arrived,
and you said
your father
was away
on business

but your
grandmother
was asleep,

so we’d,

“have to
be quiet.”

i didn’t know
what I wanted,

I was
only 15.

between
pleasureless
probing,

gasps
for air,

and tears

i thought,

“is this what
boys want?”

i learned how
to leave myself
that night;

revert my
consciousness
back into
safe headspace,

“this is what
boys want.”

A Beautiful Prison For Them

This is where
all of the
horrible things
live.

I lifted it
from my drawer
and exhaled,

“oh no,”

accidentally
letting my animal
out of it’s cage.

I forgot
where
My memories
had moved to.

I changed
their address

and lost their
coordinates.

it was not
a part of me
anymore

because
[because]

it had already
served
It’s purpose.

I was looking for
something else in
my dresser drawers

but, there
it Was
still
very much
real.

my ex boyfriend
bought me
this notebook
as a present

when we were
on our first
[and only]
trip together.

his love was
purposeful
and pure

in a list
of mine
that weren’t.

if i was
to believe
in fate,

he would be
a catalyst
incarnate.

some may argue,

“it’s a shame
to scribble
experiences of
sexual assault
and harassment
on such
beautiful pages.”

But isn’t it
always a shame,

however you
dress them,

and wherever
They lie?

Uniform

Toxicity Didn’t Kill Me

i remember

it looked
like a
smashed
strawberry

when the
gynecologist
pryed the
tampon
out of me.

I was a
20 year old

Raped
in my
childhood
bedroom

by a boy who
used “i love you”‘s
like a
trojan horse.

three days
later,
I didn’t
remember.

trauma does
that to you
[even though
for some,
sexual assault
is a punch-line
these days].

lying back
Stirruped feet,

i was just
as surprised
as the doctor

who gutted
the rotten
tissue-soaked
cotten from me.

they told me,

“you should
have been
dead of
toxic shock.”

they couldn’t
see it, but,
a part
of me
was dead.

He ended
up cheating
on me

because I
withheld sex
from him.
[after the fact]

“Boys will be boys,”

Right?