I still can’t write about him.
I still can’t say his name.
He is “the guy”.
The guy who ruined my childhood,
The guy who stole not only the safety of my bed,
But the safety in my head.
They tell me not to “let him win” or “give him the power”
But he already has it all.
There is no power left to give.
No game left to be won.
No innocence left to be claimed.
He can look at me, and he will know I’m his.
I’m his.