i define myself in my head quite deftly
by the very things i am not.
i am not
in love
i am not strong
i am not loud.

i am not all the things that i show people
like some childhood trinket i took a fancy to
passing it around the circle
waiting for other people to take delight in something that i relish
for a reason that is too simple for me to puzzle through.

i astound myself by how well i play it up
by how convincing my funny stories and shrugging shoulders are.
i am amazed at my ability to *******
(i get it from my mother)
but at the same time appreciative,
because i would be something altogether waif-like and diluted without it.

i depend on being something that i'm not
something that i'm still trying to decipher
something that maybe once was a part of me but got cut away
the year i started slicing my own flesh to drain out the sadness.

i guess what i'm trying to say is...
to the part of me that is loud:
to the part of me that drowns out the silent, open mouth screams and discolored arm-marks and the aching womb:

thank you.

******* nothing threatening to draw me close
hold me like the *** freak in his chest did
stroking my hair and cooing in my ear
dripping words as he puts his hand between my legs

ringed fingers gripping my neck
shoving away my frightened fingers
trying to break free
on the couch
he ruined my favorite movie as a child
taking my body from my control as it played in the background
a sick contrast

jesus reminding me what i am losing
in my mistakes
as i cling to the cross they crucify me on
the man that forces himself on me
a much bigger
more tangible one
than the god that told my father
it was okay
for him to come
stay

don't let it get you.
stop thinking about it.

i can't.
i can't.
i can't.

i'm so tired of talking about it to myself
thinking about it
laying my head on a pillow soaked with the frightening moments -
i want to be at peace.

he never loved me
i excused the abuse because i believed he loved me.

he never loved me.
i let it happen to me for no reason.

i'm not going to say it like you say it
i'm not going to mean it like you mean it
you will say it more often
and i will say it because i have to...
i wanted to wait to say it when i felt it
for once
but you you tricked me
and i am
angry

you're going 60 and i'm going 30
i'm still trying to figure out how not to be a **** victim
i'm still trying to figure out how not to let it happen again
and now
you love me
and i
am
no longer in control

said i love you back because
"third time's a charm"
is a black magic spell too strong for me
couldn't properly deflect it.

why do they care for me so?
is it some trick of the human race
these boys running themselves dry over a fat, small town girl?
is just that out there, somewhere
there are a certain number of people attracted to me
and I for once
am finding them?

and why
why do they do so many bad things to me?
is it simply because they are men
and this is what men know how to do?
****?

he knows what happened to me, and still he pushes boundries.
I punish him with silence.
defeated, I lie facedown in his bed
his hands exploring me...
but without the struggle,
they think it is no fun.

they think there is fun in having something you shouldn't.
they think it is
exciting.

do they think of me
at all
while they do this?
I lie here
unprotected...

they always say they will protect you
but not from their own
harsh
fingers.

"do you have chemistry?"

like we walk into the same room and start to fizzle
like we react together in a complimentary manner
like he could actually pass highschool chemistry.

does it matter?
does it matter if i have nothing to say to him
does it matter that of all people i can't think of a single topic to broach
a silly sentence to embark upon
a single thought
doesn't occur to me.

the stretches of silence are longer than the last one.
with the last, we talked too much.
every silence ached.
with this one, i am glad to not have to talk.
i am glad of the quiet.
i am glad of the lack of chemistry.

he asked me
what i liked most about him
and i thought for a whole afternoon.
the only thing that came to mind was that i liked him because he liked me...
am i that poor?
have i not the self-worth to turn them away when they beg at my feet
why do they beg
anyway
what have i
to offer
i am fat
and very
very
tired
and
afraid...

i used to really like chemistry.
but now i don't see its merit
too many things to memorize
and my memory is **** these days
his brown eyes
slipping out quietly
as i imagine him swelling bigger and bigger -
a grotesque image to smooth out the beautiful ones
that i know were there.

we don't have chemistry,
but we have animal attraction.
perhaps it is something (better) similar.