my childhood best friend was molested
by her guitar teacher when she was 7
and i did not know what that meant.
i walk too fast for my mother
and i look over my shoulder
every 10 seconds and
i clinch the keys in my fingers
like a knife and i tell myself
to aim for the throat,
aim for the jugular.
my friends tell me it's ridiculous,
"nobody ever gets assaulted around here,"
and i don't know how to say,
"what if i am the exception,
what if i am the odd one out,"
or,
"most people just don't ever
say anything because for most people
it isn't the strange man at 3 am,
it's their friend,"
and yet,
i am so scared of that demon
lurking behind every alleyway,
every street corner.
my boyfriend walks me home when it's dark
and ignores how i am always scanning,
always searching, because of
that one news story that one time
but he knows. i know he knows,
because sometimes i catch his stare
and they are almost like a silent apology.
i don't blame men, i blame the media,
all the movies, shows, and books,
for making a boogeyman out of any male
out past 2 am, and i think i blame myself, too,
because i can't seem to let this shit go,
but it's 1 in 4 college women,
and i count my friends and i do the math
and if it's not me, it's one of them,
and 1 in 4 is too great a chance to
not be scared.
my childhood best friend was molested
at the age of 7 and i didn't know
how to talk about it.
i'm so scared i won't be able to talk about it.
-c.h.
YOU ARE READING
how the words come
Poetry"this is the poetry that has come from finally realizing it is okay to be okay but also not okay at the same time." ~ 'how the words come' tells the story of overcoming the aftermath of an emotionally abusive relationship. the book is separated into...
