written: july 9, 2019 (day zero)
what do i call it?
there's no word that exists.
unwanted, but not physically resisted.
undesired, but not--what do i call it?
the need for a word kills me.
because i didn't want it
but i didn't say no."friends don't do that," you're told.
"but we've been friends for too long," is your only response.
"that doesn't make it okay."
then what does that make it?is there no word for this feeling,
this disgust lurking beneath my skin,
this need to scrape the memory off my skin,
off my brain.what do i call it?
and why didn't i say no?

YOU ARE READING
it hurts until it doesn't
Poetrya collection of poetry the start of the story: 7•09•2019 published 7•09•2020 trigger warning: rape