how am i suppose
to explain
what the ****
i am feeling

how am i suppose
to explain
the anger that runs
through my ******* veins

that i was just a child
a helpless child
in a hallow room
filled with too much pain

to even        s p e a k

I screamed
Hoping someone would be awake
To hear the sound of damage

If not me
I wanted to alert the rest
Of the predation I became the victim to

Because you were the kind of guy
They don’t warn you about
You’re the kind they praise

The one who gets into the house
Uninvited but welcomed
Because you know how to make them smile
Slowly infesting the heads
To get into cold beds
Because you enjoy the *******
You enjoy the art of treachery
The idea of being good at one thing
Feeding on the muffled, “Please”
But you don’t stop
Not until you fill blood in the crease
You’re ruthless, and you’re proud of it

Everything always seemed to happen by your house,
and hidden by the trees.

It was a couple weeks after I slapped you.
We were in the woods again.
The snow was melting, and the frozen muddy ground
was visible again.
I sat down on a log, and you sat next to me.

"I really want to try. Can we please just try it?"

You looked at me, pleading for me to try to have *** with you.
But the thing is, you knew I'd never had *** before.
I was scared, and you knew that.

"If you loved me, you would try."

Being fifteen years old and a suicidal wreckage,
I didn't want you to leave me.
I was naïve enough to think this was love.
I agreed that I would try, not that it would go anywhere.

You laid down your jacket, so that neither of us would get muddy.
I started to pull off my pants, but I left my underwear on.
I just wanted to get used to the idea of your **** near that area.
I explained that to you, and you seemed to get it.

"Are you ready?"

I told you no, that I wasn't ready for any of this.
But I would do it for you because I love you.
You pulled off my underwear, and got yourself into position.
My heart was pounding. I kept saying for you to go slow.
And you did.

As your **** began to touch, I started to panic.
I was stuck, frozen in terror.
I had never had *** before, and I 100%  knew I wasn't ready to yet.
As you put your tip in, I remember that it started to hurt really bad.

"STOP. STOP. I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS, PLEASE STOP."

You didn't though.
Instead, you pinned me down,
putting your weight against my struggling body.

"No, I don't want to. Just let me get it in once, and then I'll stop."

My heart dropped.
This is where I began to panic.
I felt you try to put it in just a little more, but the pain was too much.
I let out a small scream, and then I started to cry.

And that's where you started to panic.
You got off of me, looking hurt and upset.
I put my clothes back on, and you picked up your jacket.

I was reeling. I was scared.
And you were mad because your jacket got *****.
I was still crying, and after what seemed like an eternity you
asked if I was okay.
I played it off like everything was fine.
Heaven forbid I hurt you.

Yes. That was just really scary. I asked you to stop, and you didn't and I just got nervous, that's all.

We went to your house.
You walked me home.

Winter; late 2014/ early 2015

"I need to know that you'll be able to stop me if I can't stop myself.
I don't know if I would be able to stop myself."

In the woods by the baseball diamond,
you took my hand.
The setting sun was glowing through the trees,
and a fresh blanket of snow gently covered the ground.
Your green eyes shined in the speckled sunlight,
contrasting against your dark hair and pale skin.
You stepped towards me.
You started to kiss me.
You started to take it further.

"Hey, stop. I'm not ready, please stop."

I pushed you away;
I tried to, at least.

"I don't want to stop. YOU have to stop me."

After I asked you to stop a few more times,
without any signs that you were going to listen,
I finally slapped you.
I slapped you across the face, hard,
and I just looked at you.

"Well, now I know that you can stop me if you need to."

You had said it like it was amusing to you.
I was scared.
But I loved you, so I forgave you.
I stood there, in my blue fleece jacket, freezing,
frozen, scared,
telling you that I loved you and that I forgave you,
when I didn't even fully realize what could have just happened.

I walked home.
Oblivious.

Miracle on 34th Street.
So good, she was terrifying.
Unable to cry on cue,
Mother tore a butterfly to pieces,
And she sobbed and sobbed.

Compartmentalized,
Body and spirit broken
By the hours at
Chateau Marmont.

From sweetness
To restlessness.
From academic nods
To drinking in the scenery.
From charmed head shots
To one too many dry martinis.

Gorgeous and gloomy,
"She clings to things with her eyes,"
And naturally was committed.
Her orchestra played
A signature tune:
Splendor in the Grass.

Picture is in the tank
And so is the marriage.
Again.
Furlough is on the brink
And so is the divorce.
Again.

Charting course,
Casting reels,
Dreaming where the boats vanish,
Drowning in a paradox of watercolors.

Who pushed you over the side,
Russian doll?

I may never forget that night that you took what was not yours
But I must thank you in some odd way,
For you showed me who was there for me and who was not when I was at my lowest.
And I have found that cutting toxicity out of my life was necessary.
For if they cannot be there for me when I am  broken, they cannot be there at my peak.

I am but ashes
In your fire,
Consumed,
Until I stopped providing you oxygen
And fizzled you out.