I was 16 the first time a boy I trusted threw the phrase "I love you" like a hand grenade

"boy", because my mother taught me it doesn't matter whether real men wear pink as long as they are gentle with these vital pieces of you
calloused hands can still be soft
it all depends on the way they touch you

and in fact, I was 16 the second time too.. a different boy, bigger than me like the first
he didn't struggle to nail my hands to the boards beneath me
maybe because I was never strong enough to left his knees off my chest
Or maybe there wasn't much fight in me that day either

I didn't cry when I woke up naked in my best friend's bed that same year
And I didn't cry when they kicked me out of school because roofies sounded like ****** to their ears

so if I say their names out loud who am I giving the power to? is it ironic the way he has the same name as your father.. looks strikingly similar to a man who has never ***** me, just ripped his own daughter's heart out when he didn't stop someone else from doing the same to her

I was old enough to know better when I started going home with girls that only fed me pills in the shape of their lips
it was my own mistake when I started kissing strangers the way I kissed whiskey bottles

I was 18.. she told social media it was the best *** she's ever had.
19.. her hands aren't even calloused but I've never felt skin so rough
20.. I'd rather be in jail for the rest of my life than explain to my therapist that you weren't taking advantage of me if I'm the one who led you up the stairs

I am casual in the way I mention the finger shaped bruises they left on my thighs and my wrists and the rope burns around my heart after I tried to hang myself when I couldn't catch my breath after the weight of his knees on my chest
I promise that this are not things I dwell on
these are not memories that I am still bitter or angry over

and in fact, it wasn't until I recognized that it was my voice that has been screaming all this time
that i was even willing to name you.