In the city
it constantly feels as if there are rabid dogs snapping at my heels,
I snapped back anyway to come apart which is just how it was when Scheherazade broke into my heart as we walked to the prom, when she told me a tale of the nights she had seen in the budget hotels marking milestones of dreams.

Somehow though it's different now, this pain behind these windows eases off and slowly goes.

The dogs remain and growl but they've thrown in the towel.
The Scheherazade I knew then is just a story for old men,
In time to change for a change of my luck where the nights still smile sweetly but who gives a ****?

Not the dancer who makes points with the tip of his knife or the ramblings of a senile old man where his wife waits on tables,
not the leopard who once changed his spots for a date or the tigers aware of their new life as rugs.

Shrugs in the background where Cohen and Simone moan a tune into tune and
soon  it's my go to go and to go is always the option.

To stay are the dreams that we own.

2 men,
that's it.
2 men
have known me,
inside, they fit.

Doped out
of my mind;
it's hard to recall.
Bits and pieces,
flashes of memory.
I was a living rag doll.

Barely breathing,
he takes me from behind.
Pulls my hair,
and says,
"I'm gonna make you mine!"

I think it happened
three times,
but who really knows?
When your brain's
as high as mine goes.

I can't call it ****,
I was a willing participant.
Numb to the bones,
so with it I went.

When it all fell apart;
my secrets exposed,
he wrote me something
that was no longer prose.

His words were razor blades,
slicing the skin with ease.
I kept myself in my own prison;
over, my heart began to freeze.

"A willing **** victim",
is what he called me.
Sick to my stomach
for allowing him in,
I lay my head on the pillow
to cry for a 5 year old sin.

****
isn't always dark alleys
and whistles
and pepper spray.
It isn't always
a stranger,
they don't always
look dangerous.
Whether it is
your boyfriend
or your teacher
or your uncle,
they are no longer on your side.
This is your attacker.
Do not be silent.
Do not be afraid to make a scene.
Whether it is a movie theatre
or a street corner
or your bedroom,
yell,
scream,
curse,
bite,
spit,
let no resonate from your lungs
so they cannot say they didn't hear you.
Send him home,
tell your parents,
tell your friends,
tell the police.
****
is not always
drunk men outside bars
or keys clenched between white knuckles.
Sometimes **** is silent.
Do not be silenced.

It doesn't feel much like ****,  
     when I text you the day after
the incident,
    to say I left my card at your house,
and go to collect it,
with a quick peck on the cheek,
   a squeeze of my ***
and its as if it never happened...

People who fight
their battles alone
either lose the battle
or lose themselves.