The peeping tom
has taken up
running or biking
whatever it is
that requires
two-piece spandex
body suits
and frequenting
my coffee shop
since I moved.
—
when I feel
his eyes on me
staring
as I sit at
my table,
or staring
as I enter
from a walk;
I would rather
take an
orangepeeler
to my skin,
leatherworking
an abaya from
my own flesh
then be
seen.
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?
—
How
does one
Clean
A body
Defiled
Within it’s
Own
shower?
Where
Is
Then
Safe
To clean
Him
Off?–out?
Of
you?
—
Chandelier,
Ride the bus.
Two wine bottles
empty stomach.
Kegan said
“let me guide”
It’s not rape
if
friends decide.
Looking back
cerebral patches
snuff photographs,
scattered over
blacked
out
crash.
Kegan
left
trauma
in your skin
while
his Goons
made
a meal.
they left
pans
in your
sink
but
bigger mess
in your
head
Kicker:
Now
he’s
dating
your
old best
friend.
—
