my rapist has a new girlfriend.
there it is.
staring me in the eye.
blinking red
“jane doe is
in
a relationship
with
john fuckface.”
it’s facebook official even!
and i don’t really know how to feel.
i can feel myself:
staring off into space
for a little longer than need be.
i can feel myself:
cracking from the inside out,
more emotions than i can explain
spilling onto the floor
the chair
my cheeks.
i can feel myself:
wishing for an accident
or a tragedy
or her strength
or even his death.
is it wrong to wish for the death
of someone else
who killed you inside
over and over
and over?
because my doing nothing
to warn the general population
of a
“RAPIST!
RAPIST!
this man
may seem wonderful
to all of you
but i promise you he is a
RAPIST!”
makes me feel as if somehow
i am at fault.
but would it have made a difference?
brock turner
got three months
and he didn’t even know
chanel miller.
austin wilkerson
got off scoff-free
for sexual assault
and unlawful sexual contact.
donald trump
is the god damn
president
of the united states
for christ sake.
and i.
oh, i.
i dated my rapist
for three years.
lived in the same
lonely apartment
for a year,
and slept in the same bed as him
for months
and months
and months.
would it have mattered if i never wanted to have sex?
or if i did maybe once every two months,
but not every two days?
or would it have mattered that most of the time
i awoke to this man
this monster
this rapist
entering me
while i slept?
i have walked the path of darkness—
sliced my feet on every bitter word
i tried to choke down.
i have given all i had
to pry myself out of the bear trap
that was my relationship with this man.
but no matter how safe i feel now
nothing compares
to the bear in my stomach
ripping me apart
at the thought that someone new
will someday awake to the same horror.
ple
areudirty
pixelskylines
dailybridgerton
