‘...You were the only choice.
She was something
I had to get out of the way
First.”

A gold lamp sat on his desk.
The paint had been rubbed off
on the angles and various edges.
When left on for too long,
it became hot,
untouchable.

There are things my mother
kept around,
I don't know why she did,
Such as the cracks in the walls
from being kicked too hard,
her bed frame
she claimed to have been
pushed onto
and then hit by his fists.
Or a lamp
that got too hot,
and needed a firm hand to twist the ****
that turned it off
and on
again.

There are memories of him
I don’t know why
I keep around.
His messy work desk,
His big powerful hands,
His booming voice.

I allow my mother room
To keep pieces of him
Because it’s hard to forget
A husband of over twenty years.

I allow myself room
To not forget him,
Because it’s hard to hate your father
Forever.

Being perceived as normal is an art.
  My PTSD Atypical brain
is accidentally obvious,
and so I must be practiced and calculated
to stay hidden.

It isn't the cute eccentricities
that give us all mildly embarrassing quirks
that keep me up at night
obsessing over my behavior.
It's the trickle of trauma that seeps out of me
and marinates in with conversations
that should be normal.

It isn't random shoulder shaking sobs
or public screaming matches,
or anything obvious enough
to merit the stares of passerbys.
It's more
a bump in the road,
a single tight knot
in a strand of yarn,
or a piece of eggshell in pancake batter.
Not terrible enough to upset the balance completely,
but your thumb runs over it repeatedly a few times
in annoyance
because you can feel it just enough
to know it shouldn't be there.

It shouldn't be there.

I'm trying to practice
being average.
Practice being quiet when I should,
and learn the pieces of my life
that were traumatic
so I can hide them enough
to get by in a daily vanilla life.

But it's exhausting.

“Can I just sleep here?”
He exhaled, exhausted.
The past month
He’d been carrying my worries along side me,
Regardless of his own.
He bought me drink
After drink,
Made me food,
Of course he could sleep here,
He was my friend.

We can control ourselves.

A hug goodnight
To my housemate
And I got changed in the bathroom,
Stumbling down the hall.
He was already in my bed,
All wrapped up in my red blanket.
His shirt and pants were on the floor
In a heap.
“Are you just in your boxers?”
I asked, uncomfortable.
“It’s the only way I can sleep.”

I got under my quilt,
Careful to keep my body from his,
Pressing myself against my wall.
He put one arm around me,
And one under my pillow
Like a halo above my head,
In exactly the way he did
When we were together.
He pulled my red blanket over me, and I felt his warm skin.

I pulled away from him,
I could feel his *******.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,”
He buried his face in my neck,
And he let out a contented sigh.

How did I get here?

I kept picturing him with his ex wife,
He kept telling me they’re working things out,
And it’s going well.
He’s happy.
So why is he here right now?
Why is my heart breaking all over again?
I worked so hard to be friends,
To be content as friends.

“Your **** is up against my ****.”
“Sorry, I’ll move my leg.”
And he did for a moment.
His hand went under my shirt,
Stroking my stomach.
My breathing got heavier,
I was a terrifying mixture of fear
And anticipation.

I knew I should stop him...

But I didn’t expect it to go farther...

Too many drinks,
I couldn’t think.

He pushed his crotch up against me again.
I wriggled away,
Body tense
Trying to remember
He isn’t mine.
He moved with me,
Not allowing an inch between us.

His hand moved down my stomach,
Down to my hips,
Down...
Down...
Down.
I pulled his hand out.
“What are you doing?!”
“Just helping you out.”
His hand goes back down,
I pull away again.
“Think about what you’re doing,
Think about her.”
“We aren’t exclusive yet.”
He’s back,
Touching me the way he knows I love.
But he shouldn’t be...
He shouldn’t be.

“Just a one time relapse...”
He finishes me off,
And I turn away from him,
Ashamed I let him.
He pulls at the back of my sweat pants
“Rob...”
Pulls down...
Down...
Down.
“You’re not going to be okay if we do this, are you?”
“I’d be fine, it’s you I’m worried about.
What about her?”
“It’ll just be once.”

Just once.

It was technically consensual,
But having to specify
Over and over again,
Hurts.
It shouldn’t have happened without certainty,
Even if I said yes.

"It's easy with you,
I don't worry about you not being there,
I don't freak out when I get a text from you.
being with you
makes sense,
It's easy."
He says it as if it should be comforting.

"But that isn't love,"
I didn't want to say it,
but it came out anyway.

Easy,
Easy,
EASY.

On our first date I knew I wanted you,
you didn't have to chase me,
you didn't have to try and guess
if I liked you.
I liked you.
I woke up next to you that morning.
Easy.
I'm easy.

You couldn't be with me then, though.
Because it was just a bit of fun.
it was just a bit of easy
no commitment
fun.
I knew that,
at least I thought I did.

Yet you found your way into bed with me
two more times.

And then your really knew you had to stop,
we had to just be friends.
I didn't matter,
I was easy.

Two weeks later,
I'm with you for a weekend,
we're in bed again.
I don't know how to get people to love me
I just know how to get attention.
Easy.

That last day
you demanded an answer from the other girl
in your heart,
made her tell you if she wanted you,
and she said no.
So you asked me,
I said yes,
I didn't make you wait even an hour.
Easy.

I knew I wanted you.
it wasn't a complex decision for me.
Easy.

I met your family,
we all loved each other,
no drama,
no difficulty,
Easy.

Your grandfather died,
you knew I was there for you,
you knew that I'd hold you hand,
your family's hand,
I'd be right there,
ready to help with whatever you needed,
Easy.

Easy,
Easy,
EASY.

I didn't make him chase me,
I didn't make him wait.
I'm just a bit of fun attached to open arms.
No responsibility,
just forgiveness,
and love.
Easy.

I didn't put value on myself,
so neither did he.

I'm supposed to trust him,
but I don't.

Easy

‘...To your own bed now, or...”
You kiss my neck.
I’m tangled around you,
With my hand
Underneath your boxers
Caressing your hip.

You whip my hair
Out of my face
And kiss me,
Hard and unwavering.
You squeeze my breast,
And climb on top of me.

I roll you back over and kiss you softly.
“All right.”
We quickly break away from each other.
“I love you, I’ll see you tomorrow,”
“I love you too.”

I pull my pants on,
And lean over your bed
Demanding one last kiss.
You grab me
And pull my body to yours
With ease,
And for a moment we’re tangled up again,
Your leg between mine,
Rubbing,
And thrusting yourself against me.
And I kiss you
long and unrelenting.
Then I pull away,
Whisper
“Sweet dreams,”
And you mutter a like reply.
And I leave.

Yes,
We’re being good.
But,
We’re still having a bit of fun.

“Honey, you can’t keep living your life to please people.”
But that’s how I survive.

Someday
I won’t be quiet
When I want to scream about injustice.
I won’t hold myself and cry,
I’ll cry in plain sight
And show that what someone said wasn’t okay.

I’ll leave when I want to,
I won’t talk to those who hurt me.
I’ll tell people when they’re rude,
I’ll speak up
When I want to.

But now...
I’m at the mercy of others.
I live to please
Or I don’t get to live.

This is the time of my life
Where I raise my hand
And ask permission.
When I nod politely
At unfairness,
Where my knuckles are clenched white
Behind my back
As I accept whatever treatment I receive.

I do dream of being free,
Make no mistake,
I’m not happy this way.
But this is how I must stay
To survive.