this . is . not . poetry
i'm the the basement.
i can hear the sounds of cooking and people eating.
then, as i'm reaching into the napkin box, i hear the door close.
i thought that was weird so, i turn around and there he is.
we exchange a few words.
i start to walk past him.
he stops me by grabbing my arms. i can't move. he's hurting me.
he's touching me.
i panic.
all sound leaves.
my brain is trying to gauge the distance from boxes past drinks to the stairs.
i fight. get free. and run.
i manage to reach drinks before he grabs my wrist again.
i can't see now because the panic is blinding.
i yank my wrist back and turn to run again.
i make it to the top of the stairs. sound rushes back. tears follow.
i'm safe now.
but i can still feel his hands.
i don't want to go back to work.
but, i guess if you add it all up, aren't i tough enough? cold-hearted enough? a bitch? cruel? don't i have enough mean bones in my body to get past this with a brush off and a few laughs? i bet this'll be no problem, for a girl like me. right? but, it is.
so, now what?