You say I'll get over it.
That everyone has to experience it somehow.
That soon, I won't remember much.
I won't see it in such razor sharp detail.
But see, that's the issue. That's the part I can't reconcile.
Arriving on your doorstep,
did I knock or ring the bell?
I - shivering in my worn fuzzy boots.
You - solemn, wearing a crucifix, a
father who reassured me he wasn't still married.
I said I'd be more comfortable with music.
You turned on rap, loud, its rough lyrics sending
a new shiver to the most guiltless hill of my heart.
I shook like a hidden shelter; you smirked.
I said I didn't know how "good" I'd be.
Again, you smirked, remarking that I'd
You drew me near you. Softly yet sickeningly.
I wasn't okay. I kept shivering. I let you pull me closer.
I didn't know what I was doing.
This wasn't right, was it?
You started to caress me, if you can even call it that.
More like grope.
Then, a violent kiss. Ugly. Rough.
I don't want to call it my first kiss.
I don't want to think of mouths and tongues,
of goatees and mustaches
and innocence dug up like an undisclosed
treasure everyone will lust over.
He touched me with Devil hands...
You ushered me upstairs.
I let you place me like I was a table piece
for your dinner party.
"Will it hurt? Will it be alright?"
And the silence, the goddamn silence.
You never answered me, just laughed.
A dirty laugh.
It hurt like Hell.
And there is nothing pleasurable about sinking further
into the fiery pits I was never born to feel...
But I said I would be yours, and that you could do
I guess there are no more words,
for how swiftly "anything" becomes