the next morning I couldn't even smell his hair on my sheets
after he had gone--
they're in and out faster than the last, and
this one was bony and frightened
of me like a wild animal and I tell him,
when he has been edging his skeleton fingers
just underneath my bra all night,
you can touch me,
I want you to.
but he can't bear it, and instead he blushes and
wraps his arms around me in bed.
he's never watched **** and I
pepper his chest with bruises that neither of us want and I
ask if he has ever *** in a girl's mouth
and he fumbles over his words,
and readjusts my comforter to shield himself,
I realize it and I tell him, I'm sorry, I'm a monster.
yes I've been fingered on park benches in public,
forced into sitting on a man's face and then into comforting him
when he realized what he'd done,
tied to this bed with rope and been ****** blindfolded,
and I'm, polluted, maybe, for that,
disgusted with myself, maybe, for that, but I'm
a monster because I've
sat waiting all night for you
to come home.