You never said anything
because it was him.

He was the one
all of the other girls
dreamed of.

He had the kind smile and the curly hair
and you had drank too much and you had been reckless
and you had acted like you wanted it.

"You'll ruin him,"
they said.
He was good kid.
He had a good future.
He had plans.
What about him?

What about his finger tips
that left bruises across my hipbones?
Or the way he shoved his tongue
down my throat?
What about all the other girls before me?
And the girls after?

What about me?

So you keep your mouth shut.
You listen to your friends
talk about him in passing.

And you never say anything.
Because he is him
and you are you.