How I Love You

How You Rape Me

Evan

This is how it went: you offered and claimed all you had was South Park and vodka. You told me don't be a pussy and take the shot in one gulp; all at once or not at all. You stopped so you could drive me home and I continued because I loved the taste of rebellion at 11 PM. Wet hair, a used shower, and an empty house, tension was in the air. Lies to parents confirmed otherwise. Closer I went towards you, cause I didn't think I'd get so far away from me. Kiss you, I didn't dare because your all-too-recent ex was still my friend. But I kept leaning and in an attempt to stop me, you kissed me. I remember laughing. I remember crying. I remember not shaving. Wait, I didn't shave. I don't care about that. But I do. More laughter and then tears. This isn't real. I'm not her. This isn't real. Lips. Everywhere. Lips. Never have been more toxic. Pain. So real. Pants. Unzipping. Wait, I'm a virgin. I don't want you to -- I mean, I don't want you to think I'm like -- I've never -- It's okay. It's okay. He's a gentleman. He's nice. All in. Piercing me. It's okay. Pain between my hips. I was tired and dizzy. I called out to you but still you kept thrusting. On top, below, don't remember if there was a choice. Oh, fuck, you're really good at that. I'm really good at this. I like you. I like you. It's okay. It's okay. Justification of the nasty hesitation but just for clarification, I shouldn't have been in that situation. How do I tell your second parents I can't babysit for them anymore? It's not their fault but I can't ignore that blue couch and those pictures on the mantel. How do I stop this angry blood inside me? Cause it's causing me to shake and the poems to get depressing. Delete. Stop. No. You won't listen to any of those terms. You keep coming back in memories from wounds all over me.

Let go. Cry. Regret. Suppress. Reject. Rest. Nightmares. All-nighters. Flashbacks. Vomit. Starve. Shower. Beer. Knives. Voices. Paralyzation. Therapy. Diagnosis.
Epiphany:

Evan, you raped me.