When I talk about you, my voice gets strained.
It's squeezing it's way through my teeth,
The abuse and the fear squeaking along the unoiled hinges of my jaw--
my voice breaks.

I am every teen novel, I am every TV special
on complex systems of abuse
I am victim.
I am girl, sitting in his car and relaying the details
of my youth, the day I lost all trust in you.

The memory of your finger, clammy,
tracing a line down the center of my *******
threatens to pull me under, and I am screaming--
Why? Why did you have to make this so difficult?
Drowning myself was an inevitability,
so why did you have to hold my head under
and add your name to the list of
"who's to blame?"

And to this day, I have this innate need to
please you, I've learned
the intricacies of language for no truer reason
than to string you (happily) along;

Always emotionally available, but never
for you.
Is this part of me that wants you
A product of your manipulation?
Or am I only telling myself that,
so I can remain,
victim?