Death and Other Fun Stuff (#Wattys2015)

He Waved At Me- Part Two

There are a million ways to describe our story,

I could go on my usual rants,

the ones I spent night after night

burning up in.

I could tell you how he led me on,

how he used my silly shyness

to prey on my little 13 year old body,

my little 13 year old mind,

the way I try to peel the memories of his thick fingers away from my skin

all the places they never should have dared fumble—

his hands were a perfect toasted tan that most girls crave,

mine was pasty and pale and I was

oh-so-flattered that someone so mighty

could desire it-

oh, young love, it is so easy to look up to someone

and sacrifice your world for him.

that boy you adore,

he is sifting through your emotions to

get to your body.

Now I curl up in a torn, shadowed world

(Don't feel bad, I like it better this way)

and let a vicious loathing

rage through my heart,

I like to stare up at the stars and plot my revenge against mankind,

my thoughts scald my brain frantically,

anger surges

breathe through gritted teeth, eyes narrowed, I know

I look kinda psychotic, but that just

adds to the effect.

Someday

I will scream to the world,

"look what he did to me

he is not the god you worship

he hides his animalistic cravings behind

smiles and jokes and funny accents

but he is sick and perverted

like every other man-

do not trust him"

as if you would listen to

MY crazy rants-

nope, I supposed I'll just shriek to myself

and turn my anger to notebook pages,

stabbed and scraped by

furious pencil marks

wild scars across the page,

wild scars across my heart

Author's Note- I used to hate men, yes. That is not true anymore. I am a feminist and I support gender equality. I will leave this poem up to show the damage that could be inflicted on a girl's mind when a boy uses her like an object. Hopefully this can serve as a lesson.