POEMS

POL

TW: Rape

I was in eighth grade, the scent of happiness and adrenaline lingering on every piece of clothing I've ever owned. I always felt blue and black, but there was always an undertone of joy lodged between everything else my hormonal brain wanted me to feel. He held me - well more held me down - and I could smell the alcohol on his breath as the roses in my veins eventually became thorns and my bones rattled beneath my skin. I could feel his hands tracing over my body, leaving cuts wherever he touched and whenever another person tries to whisper to me, it reopens them, reminding me of every word he'd ever said as if they were coated in cotton candy and soaked in the sweet scent of perfume.

His hands followed my body like clouds following the sun, but it never felt that way. No, it felt like your arms being coated in crimson and your face covered in blue. If felt like peanut butter stuck on the roof of your mouth before you choke on it. It felt like the scales of a snake slithering over your body until it finally decides to bite. It felt like watching someone you love so much cry 40 different shades of depressed in the bottom of the shower because you're the reason her perfect relationship ended up not so perfect.

Because you can still taste his fingers in your mouth, and you can see the color of his eyes in your nightmares every time you decide to stay up a little too late. Because you can feel his lips try to invade yours through every single "No" you attempt to whisper in the hopes that no one will hear because it's your fault, right? You're the one that will get in trouble, right? It's all your fault, right?