i remember what it
felt like to be
called a liar
that first, and then
second, time
i remember what it
felt like to be 17
and trapped between the
drunken, sweaty bodies
of two older women while
i begged them to stop
i remember what it
felt like to call for help
plead with them that i
was a minor and to
stop touching me
please, stop touching me
i remember what it
felt like to be told
i was making what wasn’t
even my first sexual assault
into something it was not
that i was being dramatic
that i needed to forgive these
two adult women that had
touched me without my permission
without my consent
and i know what it feels like
to ask for help
beg and plead to be heard
and to be so staunchly ignored
having those i thought
i was safe with and around
deny my traumas again
and again
and i couldn’t even let
my ex partner touch me
in so many places
because even thinking
about their gentle hands
being there made my skin
crawl and my eyes water
out of fear
and i know what it feels like
to have my fingers itch
for the blade
exchanging one hurt for another
because, at least,
that’s a bloodshed i can control
and i am so fucking tired
of feeling used up
like part of me is tainted
like something was taken
ragged edges that can’t
be forced back together
and i am begging you
take a tooth
take an eye
just give it back
my bodily autonomy
my safety
my consent
my right to say no and
be listened to, goddammit
(and i wonder
if i had still been pretending to
be a woman at 17
would i have been listened to?
would that sexual assault
have been less words
and involved so much more
would i be believed?
but, a man can’t be
sexually assaulted, right?
i must have enjoyed it, right?
having two women i thought
i was safe with and around
grinding themselves onto
either side of my body
that was still that of a minor?
i must have wanted it, right?
right?
and the blade in my hand
can only tell me one thing,
that i am still screaming
no, please no
please, you’re hurting me
please stop
please stop
please stop)