I was fifteen
when I said no
but a hand pressed against the back of my neck
as tears ran down my face
he said "*if you loved me you'd do it.
you wouldn't be crying*"
and he took what he wanted anyways.
I wish I'd known better;
I wish I'd told my mother.
I was seventeen
Dating the only boy I've ever I loved
when his fingers grazed my neck
and I cried
and apologized because
I couldn't explain why.
I couldn't tell my mother.
I was twenty one
when I finally realized what happened to me
wasn't the way it was supposed to be
and I lost something I didn't know I had
that I'd never know why;
that I should've listened to my mother
I was twenty three
when he returned
with the audacity to ask if I wanted to hook up
I wish I'd had the courage to say something
to tell him what he did wasn't fair
that I should've known better,
that he should've been better;
that I wish I'd listened to my mother.