There is a monster stuck to my skin,
that creeps from within,
while breathing down my neck.
This thing of a memory keeps me thinking of death
by reminding me of
the start of a hug
that was a little too friendly.
The hug that was unwanted,
uncomfortable, and vaunted.
The hug that escalated quick, without permission.
Where is the polite intermission,
or the f***ing introduction?
I could not get around my malfunction
of not being able to beat the evil,
or should I say the upheaval.
The “loss” of your hormone control is not the fact to rely on,
as the excuse, the leading con,
as to why your hand should be able to go further,
maybe even hold my virginity for murder.
That was where I screamed the loudest,
kicked the hardest,
while hitting my defeat.
I gave all I had. Please believe
that I was scared to try to stop you
with all my strength, to not succeed, and to let you win.
What part of “no” was not understood at the beginning?
What did you think my fists swinging
represented?
How did you not mention
any sign of apology?
Nothing happened modestly,
I refuse to accept that I let this happen.
I was trapped in
an unescapable grasp.
& I still am.