i remember what it felt like to be called a liar that first, and then second, time
i remember what it felt like to be 17 and trapped between the drunken, sweaty bodies of two older women while i begged them to stop
i remember what it felt like to call for help plead with them that i was a minor and to stop touching me please, stop touching me
i remember what it felt like to be told i was making what wasn’t even my first ****** assault into something it was not
that i was being dramatic that i needed to forgive these two adult women that had touched me without my permission without my consent
and i know what it feels like to ask for help beg and plead to be heard and to be so staunchly ignored
having those i thought i was safe with and around deny my traumas again and again
and i couldn’t even let my ex partner touch me in so many places because even thinking about their gentle hands being there made my skin crawl and my eyes water out of fear
and i know what it feels like to have my fingers itch for the blade exchanging one hurt for another because, at least, that’s a bloodshed i can control
and i am so ******* tired of feeling used up like part of me is tainted like something was taken ragged edges that can’t be forced back together
and i am begging you take a tooth take an eye just give it back
my ****** autonomy my safety my consent
my right to say no and be listened to, *******
(and i wonder if i had still been pretending to be a woman at 17 would i have been listened to?
would that ****** assault have been less words and involved so much more would i be believed?
but, a man can’t be sexually assaulted, right? i must have enjoyed it, right? having two women i thought i was safe with and around grinding themselves onto either side of my body that was still that of a minor?
i must have wanted it, right? right?
and the blade in my hand can only tell me one thing, that i am still screaming