I close my eyes and I can pinpoint every spot that you have ever touched.
My skin cells die all over again in hopes to keep you out.
I feel my skin raise and wail like the ocean chasing a storm off, flooding my eyes and pouring over the edges.
When I see you I see stars erupt in a horrifying calamity and I feel like dying all over again.
I was raised to believe that calloused hands only belonged to hard working men,
not boys that felt that it was their right to take what wasn’t theirs.
My mother told me that not everyone is beautiful on the inside and I never believed her,
Until I looked into his eyes and read his mind like a playwrite.
There are stories and books written about the shapes and forms evil can come in,
How 60% of sexual assault crimes are never reported to the police and 44% of the victims are under 18.
There is no comfort in being a statstic, but there is more pain knowing I am not the only one.
I swallow distaste every time I hear his name and I can’t seem to form complete sentences.
Even though my friends and family never seem to fully understand where the anxiety comes from,
I hope that one day my words will come forward just like the stars, despite how much time has elapsed.
you-had-me-at-e-flat-major