click.
i see myself in his teeth.
he's dancing off in a city ive never been to.
click.
he's eating sushi over a few beers with friends at the kitchen table, and i am under his finger nails.
click.
i remember that corner.
click.
i killed the memory of that tshirt.
click.
this is an old memory. its a baby. theres also an older man the presumes to be his father. they are both round and bright. and still smiling.
click.
he is shirtless. again. and i catch myself in the reflection if the mirror.
i call him wolf when i write about him.
the wolf so i can make him as story book as possible.
the wolf when i write about him which is to say when my memory escapes the murderer. and when the internet suggests it.
he is suggested in the people you may know.
i am people you may know.
there are people that know. and people that dont know. when people that dont know, i want to let know. im afraid to let know in public. and people that know of me, that know.
the word no.
no.
NO.
no. its a flock of silly string sitting in my mouth.
NOW i know the wolfs middle name.
and what he listens to on Spotify..
he can no longer be a wolf.
in the nameless grave that i dig for myself in bad days.
we have mutual family and now its as if they're the ones holding the shovel.
five people have seen this happen. lived through this.
and four people have told me they ratcheted i said nothing to some family members who said i must give his act a name or it DIDNT EXIST! that "obviously" i could have fought back.
which is to say no one comes running for young girls who cry rape.
when i told my father. he also asked why i didnt fight back.
Dad.
I am. Right now. i promise.
everyday i write a poem titled Tomorrow.
it is a hand written list of people i know that love me.
and i make sure. to put my OWN NAME at the top.
