I still can’t write about him.
I still can’t say his name.
He is “the guy”.
The guy who ruined my childhood,
The guy who stole not only the safety of my bed,
But the safety in my head.
They tell me not to “let him win” or “give him the power”
But he already has it all.
There is no power left to give.
No game left to be won.
No innocence left to be claimed.
He can look at me, and he will know I’m his.
I’m his.

Calla lilies bloomed in that field.
Each bud a was praise of emulation,
And each fallen petal was a baroque requiem.

I didn’t realize that I didn’t have to tell them everything.
That my survirship was valid whether or not I gave them what they asked for.

I didn’t realize that seeing people gorge themselves on the feast that is my broken innocence was not a requirement.

I didn’t realize that I could take control over the story where my life was taken out of my control.

I didn’t realize.

I hate the fact that you could have me back in a heartbeat.
I remember the bad but I’ve forgotten the worst,
So I am yours for the taking,
And that ******* ****** me off.

The stars once told me you were out of my reach.
Our secrets were hidden by night, but the constellations saw the wreckage and whispered to me:

“You are made of light. Please don’t glow for an ice that won’t be melted”

You, my sweet boy, are yellow.
Not sick or jaundiced, but the hue of a cancary on an April afternoon.
The pastel tone painted on Easter eggs every year.
And the bright shade of the walls in the room where I met you.

I didn’t realize you used it against me.
When day 4 was erased and turned into another day 1,
I still thought it was all my fault, that I didn’t give you enough.

Now though, I see you are a monster.
I refuse to blame myself for being naïve.
I’m no stranger to abuse, but your method will haunt me for years.
While wielding the sword of my own horrors, you whispered the vows that would save your reputation and keep my loyalty even when I’m empty and broken.
You soothed the old wound and turned my wildfire into a flickering candle. But my wax turned cold on impact when you tried to slice my flesh when I was most vulnerable.

I let you draw blood, numbed by your manipulation.
But now you are gone, and your anesthesia wore off.
I see you now.
You are not my friend.
You are not my enemy.
You are just a terrible young man who’s name I will eventually forget.
Because you are nothing to me anymore.