i started this poem when i was nearly 23 i'm 24 now almost 25 but i still feel like a child.
19 trying drugs, loving the man who would **** me. and i'd forgive him take him back into my arms let him touch me anywhere just to feel something. afterward he smokes and smokes and smokes apologizing through a haze of drugs and shame. he spoke useless fragile words and i drank them up eagerly. they tasted like whiskey, valerian, and ice.
when i'm 20 i find a therapist. no more drugs; still loving him. i slide a new slate across the kitchen table just for him. but it's cracking as his fingers pick it up, shattering in place. he moves from stone to skin. rips and tears until i'm finally split too.
21 still in therapy, i tell him it's okay that he cheated because it was all about the drugs: not me. but when i tell him how much it hurts he says maybe you should work on that in therapy. i lean into his side but being near him never quite feels the same and i ache for comforting sin.
i'm 22 when i find out that being pressured into *** after saying no twice isn't consensual and he's not round anymore but at night i hold my breath terrified that he'll appear. in my dreams there are flash backs lying in wait, even though i've begged for some dream less sleep.
when i'm 23 my third or fourth therapist tells me she's sorry that i had to go through it all. and she listens as i fade away and keeps listening until i can feel the earth at my feet once more. she's a good sort. i'm sad when she moves.
24 creeps upon me like a scratchy sweater. i want to shrug it off of my shoulders, but it's too cold. i'm no longer the things that happened to me in that darkening room, and at twilight most nights i no longer find myself thinking of him.
i feel so old. my bones always hurt, the cat's food is so expensive, and i always have chicken in the freezer. but i can't bring myself to eat. the medications keep the ache at bay but i feel it waiting. at least my cat always purrs when i feed him. makes me feel a little loved.
my chance to grow got pushed back a few years and i probably grew anyways, unknowingly pushing back against invisible walls waiting for one to finally give.
i hate that i'm here trapped in adolescence i hate that i'm still writing about him about what happened and how much it still hurts me.
maybe when i'm 25 i'll try to edit this poem.
i found this unfinished poem and decided to re-write it. it's a lot. i tried to tag trigger warnings so i hope this didn't make anyone upset. i should edit this one day. [tw: sa] = [trigger warning: ****** assaul t]