in the morning. cold-sweat waking because my body knew something was wrong, even if my mind didn't, even if it took me minutes in the bathroom looking at the pants around my ankles before there was the slow dawn ofrecognition; realizing they were on backwards, that what i forgot was that last night – last night. and even months later, here, now, i am sitting in tisch freshly showered but i am still not clean. this is all i have. sensation-- he, pushing himself inside of me groaning, grabbed my legs i had my eyes closedi never even saw. later, he told me i gave him head. and that there was cum on my sweatshirt and i“should probably have that cleaned”
second. after, i’m sitting outside of dewick, clutching the cellphone to my face, ten feet from the glass windows where hopefully it is dark enough outsidethat they cannot see me sobbing, repeating “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” all my words and this isthe only thing i can find to say and he forgives me-- can’t understand why i’m crying even harder now,“It’s okay,” he says,“It’s okay.” then calls me back ten minutes later and we break up. after all, nobody dates a filthy whore
third. after,
there’s always going to be the after. this is my new timescale like when jesus was born; BC, AD. i can tell you that AD is anno domini “In the year of our lord”, all this to say that i do not believe in god all this to say that there are things i will never tell my mother because i’d spare her the pain because i’m still so ashamed – how can i ever be anything other than damaged goods?