I watch as she giggles,
Tucks her hair behind her ears,
Averts her gaze.
Winces, like she's ashamed of the feelings that just welled up inside her.
The thoughts that ricocheted throughout her mind.
A target hit dead centre.
Like they knew exactly where it would hurt most.
A wound opening up.
She rushes to apply pressure.
Gasps and sputters and rushes to explain herself.
It was involuntary.
I swear.
Muscle memory.
I swear.
Don't take this as invitation.
There isn't a welcome matt laid at my feet.
These doors are locked for good reason.
My body is not a home for you.
It is barely even a home for me.
I've lived here my entire life,
But I'm still removing the wallpaper,
Unpacking the boxes.
Scrubbing out the bloodstains.
This foundation is rocky. Sometimes, I'm sure this whole place just might collapse and bury me.
This was never my home.
Just a place for boys like you to come and go,
Taking up all the space within me, until there is no space for me, over and over, and over
And I never said no.
I kept handing out keys, scared that they'd get locked out,
Bust down the door, trying to get back inside.
My body is no longer a home for boys like you.
I hung that stupid sign outside my front door.
The one that reads, "No boys allowed."
They still come knocking, but I got pretty good at keeping that door locked.
Even with my giggles and my playful banter and the smiles that I always gave away so easily.
That sign was my saving grace.
I didn't need to say no.
I didn't have any keys to hand out.
My door was locked.
That sign was there for a reason, but it was like you couldn't read.
But my smile was clear, right?
My giggles and my playful banter.
My heart on my sleeve and the trust I so rarely give boys like you...
That was clear...
Right?
I never said no, but I thought you could read.
That sign was there for a reason.
But you had a thought that ricocheted,
A target hit dead centre.
A wound opening up.
I gasp, and I sputter.
Rushing to explain myself.
It was involuntary.
I swear.
Muscle memory.
I swear.
Don't take this as invitation.
There isn't a welcome matt laid at my feet.
YOU ARE READING
The diary of Seth Alexander
PoetryI write to cope with life, so maybe this might help someone else cope too, idk. Trigger warning for suicidal ideation, S/A, and Abuse. There's not many mentions of them directly as this is more about my emotions and moments of reflection, all neatl...
