blood drips from his lip where I bit; hard,
like I could make up for what he did.
like an ounce of blood could make up for
all the men who have called me "baby" from
their cars while they honk the horn and
their friends laugh at my discomfort.
like a split in his lip could make up for the
way his hands traced my thighs, praising god
for a "slut so sexy". like the blood leaking
from between his teeth could serve as justice
for his crimes, because god forbid a girl cry 'rape',
how cliche.
