What does one do when the lines of the meaning of love are blurred for a girl at the age of fourteen?
When a girl is pinned down to a bed even though she said
No
No
No
But let it happen because she thought that was how relationships were supposed to be.

Maybe he didn’t listen because I’m wrong
This is meant to happen
I’m his girlfriend.
I should be okay with him groping me.
Stop being so uncomfortable.
Stop squirming underneath his grasp.
Stop trying to pry his fingers off of your breast as he laughs at your struggle.
He’s your boyfriend.
He loves you.
This is okay.

It must be okay
Because the pattern continued.
It must just be love when your boyfriend tries to touch you in untouched places while you’re trying to sleep
At the age of fifteen.
I’d never been touched there before
I’d never even touched myself there before.
And I had never felt any more uncomfortable in my whole life
But who was I to say
No.
It was love,
Right?

And it wasn’t assault, right?
Surely I- a young, normal girl- didn’t become a victim of ****** assault
Right?
I didn’t say no.
I was too scared to say no.
I was too scared that the words
No
No
No
Became lost in my mouth
And my eyes were stuck shut because they were too scared
Too see the kind of  love he was giving me.

And I wanted to leave but I couldn’t
Because love is supposed to be this way.
I never had a physical experience showing otherwise.
This must be love
The lines are not blurred.
This is how it is.

For a moment I thought that maybe
I wasn’t wrong.
That this repetition of touching
That this lack of approval
Was wrong.
My body is my body
I’m not found strung on the shelves of *** shops
Or delivered in a package with a bow on top
Spread across the table for a man’s full course meal.
No.
I am a person
And just because I have ******* and curves and a vulnerable physique does not mean I am up for grabs--

He told me he loved me
But if that was love that was no love of mine
And I told him
No
No
No.
I exposed him
I may have been in tears but I told him I knew everything that he had been doing to me and I called out his love

And he
He
Did not apologize.
He did not explain himself to me.
He just told me that
It was okay.
I was okay.

Because that’s right.
I am nothing
I am nothing
How silly of me to think otherwise
How silly of me that I almost forgot that I am nothing more
Than an object for you to touch how you please.
Who needs sleep
When the man can’t wait
For you to wake up
For consent
For you to yell
No
No
No.

Because who am I to say no?

Mistreatment, abandonment, corruption, exploitation,
Things that have been done, without any explanation.
Blue down the face, red down the brain,
Creating a purple, pleasurable feeling, of cruelty in perverted vain.
Yet the pleasure is reversed, for it was just an excuse,
For the deepest excuse that came from the most purple bruise.

i can't look her in the eyes
she means the world to me
but in blue irises come memories
repressed, forgotten, unwanted

his were a clear, vibrant sky
beautiful, even picturesque
but he wanted so much more
than flattery and a late-night dance

he met me at a baseball field
"it's just a date, don't be so nervous!"
"it's raining," i argued. "it's cold."
"i can fix that for you"

and my jacket came off
colder
my shoes, sopping wet
colder
my top, clinging to my skin
colder
my pants, a barrier
colder

but then i was warm with him
my lips, my ****, between my legs
it was angry, like a raging wildfire
and his touch burned me alive

he moved away not long after
the desecration of my body
i have no clue where he is
but i hate the color of her eyes

I am sorry for the:

Unsolicited **** pics
Request for nudes
Catcalling
Inappropriate or creepy comments
Failing to listen
Acting without asking
Emotional manipulation
Emotional unavailability
Approaching you to practice game
Shaming your sexuality
Meanwhile glorifying my own.
Laws governing your body
Calling you beautiful before
Brilliant
Speaking over/behind/beneath you
Lust in my eyes
​

Dig your claws in my back
Treat me like I'm just a snack
Not a person, just a use
"drunk" is not an excuse
Whenever I speak up and make some noise
The only response is "boys will be boys"

my mother may not be perfect
but she is brave.
my best friend may not be perfect
but she is brave.
the ones who flinch away from touch may not be perfect
but they are brave.
they are brave without being questioned
in front of millions
they are brave without having their stories torn apart
and dug up
and denied
and perhaps even believed but still pushed aside
so as not to ruin the life
of the man who ruined theirs.
they are brave without an audience.

imagine how brave she must be
to relive her trauma
in every single question and torment and threat
plastered on television screens
and dissected by men who think
their careers carry more weight
than the abuse they have all inflicted before.

dr. ford is brave
and then some.