The Years After

Hello! Below is a collection of poetry I wrote in response to sexual assault—particularly the after effects that linger years later. Thanks for reading! If any of this is triggering, please take care of yourself <3 I believe in you!

The Years Away From the Memories

What story do I have to tell?

Not long ago I knew it well,

But now my mind has drained to blank

And not even fear seems to color my slate.

I know the side effects, I know them well,

But this sensation of living seems as if a spell

Has cleared my mind, or blinded it smart,

The past now appears as another’s departure

With innocence.

What story do I have to tell?

As I age up I feel myself

Become a person far away

From the me I used to brave.

I recited my tale more often than one should,

But then I had not understood,

The gravity which then pulled me down,

I stand up tall, but sense the ground

Shake enough to move a leaf and rebound

My innocence.

What story do I have to tell?

I cannot tell.

Him.

I see the face floating in my skull,

I see the glow of his baby skin,

I see the curve of his nose and the almond shaped eyes and the green like the deep of a forest little girls get lost in.

I see myself: thin and smiley and high school hopeless.

And then I see myself: bloody, sticky, and bloated with emotion.

Vivid, even 6 years later.

The Privilege to Forget

Remember me?

I cannot seem to forget you.

I cannot seem to separate the sensations

Of you:

As

Your warm and callused fingers shield mine while you teach me to strum my first chord,

Your thick and cotton blue flannel wraps around my body like a protection spell,

Your chest catches my heavy head as we slow dance in the a parking lot to the blast of a country love song-

As

You stand by your dresser frustrated and confused, fists clenched, eyes darting as I sob on your bed without explanation,

You thrust into me while I choke back the pain with the sound of childish giggles,

You ask for another because you’re stressed and I want to-

I cannot.

You are here,

Everywhere

But I am sure I am nowhere in you

Anymore;

Perhaps I never was

Though we both knew you thought you loved us.

I thought I did too.

I still do

Even in the mists of the pain

And the clarity of age.

First Love, Always Love

This is fucked up

But I love you.

You were my first love

But I cannot hate you.

You pinned me to your bed

As I lay confused

And we made love

Because that is what teenagers do

But I didn’t want to do it-

Not really.

I just wasn’t ready

But we had no idea,

We were in love.

And even though you destroyed me

I love you all the same.

Even though your face triggers me

I love you all the same.

Some sickly kind part of me

Sees that boy who loved me

And I cannot help but think:

We were happy.

But here I am years post that phase,

And his face still haunts these words I made.

The Sex After

I love him-

I love him I love him I love Him!

Then why do I wince when we make love,

When we lie in the same bed as one?

As one

He is perfection,

But oblivious to the panic building in my core

Rather than the pleasure I yearn to own

As we beckon one another with our lips

I sweat stress because I am a fraud

Though I promise my love that I am true.

I have an infection

That is not his burden to bear

And yet it is not mine either

Still both of us suffer.

How can I tell my love that sex is not pleasure,

It’s a slow and thrusting torture;

Because of the assault on mind that shook my body years ago,

Because some asshole decided that I was unworthy of asking, only taking what I owed.

I want to scream and smash a wall with my anger,

Shatter glass with my frustration,

I am not a violent person but I would love to find my Life Changer and kick his manhood to space

For what he’s done to my scars.

The narration floods back into my thoughts

When I am safe in His arms, in his mind, in his world,

At last

I am Loved with a yes!

Finally, yes, yes, yes!

But no, my mind stings with alarm-

He can protect me from the outside

But my innards are mine to defend

Whether I am ready or not

And I am not.

My brain whorls like a hurricane just breaching the shore:

You are a disappointment; I am a disappointment.

You are a bad girlfriend; I am a bad girlfriend.

You are pathetic and ridiculous; I am pathetic and ridiculous.

over and over and over and over and-

I just want to have good, romantic sex with the love of my life

But I can’t

Because when I was sixteen

I was robbed of my intimacy.

Can I ever retrieve it

Or am I a plague

Forced to fake what I wish was real?