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Poem
I’m losing a battle I did not choose to fight in,
I have waited nearly fourteen years for freedom. 
There is still no stopping him. 
I lay next to someone I adore and 
He still clogs my thoughts like hair in drainage.
I glance at my love as they sleep,
Peaceful and snoring softly,
And I wish I could block him out 
But he sticks to me like molasses. 
Divulging my soul,
Sneaking into every crevice I thought was my own.
I should’ve known better,
He taught me I will never belong to myself.
Not after what he did.
And I feel the burning of the shower water
As I try to cleanse myself
Of the memories, 100 degrees,
Of his hands, 104
His body, 107
His words. 110
I crank up the heat and it’s not hot enough,
One hundred and twenty degrees
I feel my skin begin to burn
I turn the faucet handle
To the depths of Hell,
And still it’s not enough,
I’m unclean,
Unkempt,
His
Property.
I was marked as his
On my back,
Scar tissue only I know the truth to.
When my partner traces their thumb over it
I shiver but stay silent,
Not because it reminds me of him,
But because it reminds me of all that could be done,
Of all that could yet to be.
And I fear he knows the new address,
I worry he knows the reason behind the move,
I’m terrified.
Scared.
All these years I’ve lived in fear.
Waiting for the shoe to drop,
Waiting for him to summon me,
Call me back,
The best friend of his son,
His sexual apprentice,
Six years old,
Seven,
Eight,
Nine,
Taught to wait at his beckon,
His pet.
I try to tell people I’m over it,
But I’m starting to think
Maybe 
This 
Is not
Something I will
Be getting over.
How do I tell my partner,
Someone I trust with my most intimate 
Of soul secrets,
Who has kissed away
The hurt
And fear
That I may never be
Enough?
I want to be,
I do.
Desperately,
Longingly I do.
But what if he broke something within
The first time he decided
My childhood body was nothing but 
A space for 
His phallus to operate in.
They tell me I’m enough,
But they weren’t there when it happened,
What 
If 
It 
Was 
My 
Fault? 
A child cannot consent 
Certainly not to a predator,
But he convinced me of his princeship,
That our relations 
Were but a dalliance,
Needing to be hidden from thieves,
And social workers.
What if they find out my naivete,
My foolish,
For as a child I knew not 
What he was doing,
But only what I was becoming?
And they leave,
Knowing 
The truth,
In the fact
That they 
Deserve
Better?
One Hundred Twenty-Two Degrees Fahrenheit
And my skin crawls,
Beat red and burning,
Knowing 
The truth
Of my body now.
That I am a product that
Has been tampered,
An item you can no longer return to seller.
I am of ruins,
And they are forever bound by my blood.
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