I stand accused.
Accused of a crime I most surely committed.
A crime of the most heinous issue.
More appalling than a sickness transmitted.
The accuser claims I have destroyed my family,
because of my crime.

What did I do?

What was my crime?

I spoke out when I was molested.
Molested by my dear, innocent cousin,
who could not possibly have done wrong.
I was molested.

I did not point fingers
or name names at first.
I simply said "I will stay in a hotel this visit."
But you cannot remain vague with family.
Family has a way of enticing your confessions.
They demand to know your sins.

I stand accused.
Not of a crime, but of a plot.
A plot to destroy my family with evil thoughts.
I am a trickster whose pleas are refused.
I stand accused
of being molested
in a world that says "Get over it."
and a family that screams "Who should trust you?!"

I was molested,
and I stand accused.
Help from Lady Justice refused.

Don't tell me
what you learned in school
was useless

because
every day
you:

count
the number of likes
you got on your selfie
to figure out the value
of your beauty,

write
perfectly formed tweets
to exude creativity and wit
you wish you
actually possessed,

read
status updates
from former friends
who always seem
to be doing something
exciting,

become curious
about the lives
of people
you've never met,
and

question
why you waste
your time
comparing yourself
to carefully crafted personalities
that exist only
for Internet audiences
they would otherwise
be too afraid
to address.

Don't tell me
what you learned in school
was useless.

Your hands
in places they don't belong
I don't mind at all.

You're here but your heart is somewhere else with
someone else,
I know.

An arm wrapped around me
I unravel it back to you
I can not call it my own.

Tonight my lips are stained with wine
And yours are stained with mine,
Both of ours are stained with guilt.

You taste like a lie I know
All too well.

I am not a bad person but
I have to be every time
we're together.

Here we are,
happily sinning to rid the
conscience from our brain.

How good does it feel
to wipe the shame into
desire?

When you're gone
I don't hold my breath in waiting
I would suffocate if I were to.

I miss you only on the nights when
I am alone and the days where you
don't text back.

I ask if you even exist anymore and
you answer sometimes,
Do you need me?
Sometimes.

There is only lonely and whispering when it comes to us,
See you soon, we swear,
always.

Your hands
in places they don't belong

You're here but your heart is somewhere else with
someone else,
I know

Here we are,
happily sinning to rid the
conscience from our brain.

Does your love know where you are tonight?