I try not to think about it.
About how "No," (or, more accurately depicted: "NO!")
Wasn't a valid answer.
Or how my first line of defense
Was the 4,000+ page Civil War Encyclopedia
On my nightstand.
I try not to think
Of the ways I've been reduced to an object.
I try not to think of my silent tears,
Or wanting to light my skin on fire.
I try not to think of my older brother's anger,
Or the confusion and passive rage
When I explained what it meant to my little brothers'.
I try not to think of my foster mother,
Who instantly accused me of lying
Because I was too scared to come forward with it sooner.
I try not to think
About how I still kind of hate her for that.
I try not to think
About the male friends who told me to get over it.
About the male friends who didn't believe me until they asked him,
And judged his behavior about it for themselves.
About the male friends who didn't understand what the big deal was.
I try not to think
About the female friends who didn't want to believe me.
About the female friends who left because I became too difficult.
About the female friends who left because they were no longer the center of attention.
About the female friends who didn't want to understand because it was too much trouble.
I try not to think
Of the way it destroyed my relationships, six platonic, three familial, and one romantic.
I try not to think
Of how I want to blame myself,
Even though I'm better off without those people,
All of them.
I try not to think
About how it destroys me
Little by little,
But only on the bad days.
I try not to think
About how I was messed up
Long before that.
About how I was a possession to my father,
So becoming an object to another man
Was really no different.
I try not to think.