Another night comes and goes.
Another night, crowded rooms and overlapping conversations. I look delicate, fertile. I take pride in being the youngest there, jailbait - meat. The comments wet the spots behind my ears. People talk of how I have my whole life ahead of me, nothing that has happened has been real. No, not yet. Nothing was real.
It's wrong. Everythings wrong. Immoral, unethical.
It was this night that I stayed behind. I listened to half of a conversation I should not have.
I let you take my hand, pulling me away from the swarm of people. My hand looks featherlight while being laced through yours. The thought that you can break my bones makes my stomach roll. I'm not sure what emotion is over me. I feel like a fool, a clown whose only purpose is to make you feel something other than hate.
From the bruises on my sides, I am now well aware you are unable to grasp something without leaving a mark. With this to my knowledge I still take it like communion.
You held my hand too tightly,
As if I might escape,
And run so fast you would never catch me.
I felt my pulse in your grip,
As the pain of your bruising,
Echoed in the soreness of my heart.
