I was fifteen when I said no but a hand pressed against the back of my neck as tears ran down my faceΒ Β he said "if you loved me you'd do it. you wouldn't be crying" and he took what he wanted anyways. I wish I'd known better; I wish I'd told my mother.
I was seventeen Dating the only boy I've everΒ Β I loved when his fingers grazed my neck and I cried and apologized because I couldn't explain why. I couldn't tell my mother.
I was twenty one when I finally realized what happened to me wasn't the way it was supposed to be and I lost something I didn't know I had that I'd never know why; that I should've listened to my mother
I was twenty three when he returned with the audacity to ask if I wanted to hook up I wish I'd had the courage to say something to tell him what he did wasn't fair that I should've known better, that he should've been better; that I wish I'd listened to my mother.