his name i won't say to you
but that doesnt mean
his name would be forgotten by few.

the way we danced
the way we smiled
the way he glanced
at no one else but me.

remember when i said
my last kiss was the first?
excuse me, but i secretly misled
you to believe something else.

yes, 8th grade kisses came first,
but the ones that followed
were kisses that were cursed.

i suppressed the memory so well
that i almost forgot about it
until you led me back to that hell.

now believe me that this is true
dr. camille says its long overdue
to confront this suppressed memory
and face the fact
the thing that made me crack.

so break out the tisses
and prepare to read about my scarring issues.

we danced
and i felt entranced
your smile so uplifting and exciting
i couldnt hold back laughter that i was fighting.

we kissed,
and i remember it feeling like sparks.
as of now, i can't believe i made such remarks.
the more sadness i tried to erase

weaving up the stairs
i thought that nothing in this world
could ever compare.

a room that was open and bare,
i honestly could swear,
that my head was shrieking 'no'
but your smile kept on shining 'hello'

i'd rather not go into detail
of what emotions prevailed
that night,
but i would like to share
what felt wrong, and what felt right.

it felt wrong that he pushed for it.
it felt right that i said i'd rather quit
it felt wrong that he ignored my pleas.
it felt right that i was trying to shut my knees.
it felt wrong that he roughly tried to open them.
it felt right i would persistently condemn him

sooner than i thought, sooner than i would expect,
sooner than i would imagine,
i was a potential victim of ****
i knew i had to escape.
his threats and shouts and cursing and strength
could have done more damage considering his height and length.

tears and fear.
fears and tears.
screaming and shouting.
shouting and screaming.

finally did oliver and nate
use my screaming as bait
and bust down the door.
as they led me outside,
i heard his voice shout behind me, "you * *****."

that night
made my face and hands and blood
turn white,
especially when i had to remember the pain
and all of the things that were incredibly inhumane.

not until two days ago,
did i summon the will
to write this truth, although
i couldnt stop crying and hiding and feeling chills
racing up and down my spine.
dr. camille said that therapy would reassign
my past memories and horror and malign
but never again would innocence,
could i honestly say, would be mine.

dont believe me?
dont believe that this memory of my life is trye?
well ***** you.
but in all honesty,
it really happened.
and i do all that i can
to forget about where parts of my horror began

still dont believe it was real?
well, heres the deal.
why dont you ask
for yourself
what really went on.

the other patients will cry
when asked to reply
about my mishap.

or maybe dr. camille or thatcher or hammond
each will make you see
what i said occurred
actually happened to me.

if their professional words
dont fall into your defenses,
why not go to the man himself.
you standing on the offenses,
with him full of pretenses
acting like he was the best there ever was.
but let me caution you,
that's all he ever does.

lure in girls, like me.
lead them in and before i know it,
i'm struggling to flee.

so if you dont want to understand
theres nothing else i can do
to help you expand
your minimized thoughts and mind.
but beware, when you fall to traps like his,
your soul will be so scattered, you won't find.

to those who believe,
i'm thankful,
but i'll never be able to relieve
the memories that have been scorched into my head.
these moments, among others,
are the reasons i'd rather be dead.