I'm sitting in my living room replaying everything you said to me, and thinking, no matter the amount of brutal words used you would have never hurt me the way he did
the way he put my hands on me-
the amount of times i have counted the clouds on our tacky living room wallpaper, my heart and stomach are not positioned correctly and I can hear me telling you no, no, no repeatedly
but you not being able to hear because desire has taken over your whole body and replaced it as the only thing you know best.
I may not be full of much faith at this point, but the one thing I do agree with is how Jesus forgave his prosecutors.
I will forgive you but I will never forget
I will not forget the words you whispered, the
way you thought it was ok-
the emotional scars on my body and mind will live on to tell the tale of that night in full detail, but I will keep scrubbing my body, and washing my hands until the dirt I can see is no longer visible.
I will look into the eyes of the next boy I think I love and question whether or not he will hurt me the way you did-
the skeleton in my closet will have to come out eventually, but every time I reopen that door I will be faced with the sad reality that is life.