I don't know what to call this.
I haven't written poetry in so long, I don't even know if this counts. I don't know if it's any good and I don't care. It's true.
"I'll tell you when you're older", I promised, laughing; lying.
"I'm older..." he teases, a few seconds later.
It always comes to this.
I'm out of time.
I make an appointment, put it off, like it makes a difference.
I can't lie. Not to him.
We walk through the park where I would go to get away from you.
I tell him the truth, but not all of it. "I'm sort of crazy...
Someone hurt me. It happened a long time ago."
It's still happening.
No, not that. Everything else.
He smiles politely; maybe uncomfortably...not sure how he should respond.
"Wow."
"So this is why I'm like this." (I don't go into what "this" is; I hope - stupidly - that he can tell).
"Okay", he says, still smiling.
Now I know that smile was him accepting it. Accepting me.
Then, I thought I knew it was over...and so it was.
I ended it. He said the words, but they were moot.
I ruined yet another thing I wanted, long before that. Because of what you did!
It always comes to this...me paying for your sins.
And yes, I have forgiven.
But you - you wouldn't even show me the courtesy of acknowledging it.
Yes, I know, you never did anything. We don't talk about it.
Every muscle frozen in fear, and every gasp; every flinch at someone's unexpected touch
even if they have my love
Every wall that traps me inside myself
just when I think I am going to get out
They all know.
And I know.
"Forgive and forget", I was taught.
It's a good thing I know now that you can do one without the other.
I will never forget.
"I'll tell you when you're older", I promised, laughing; lying.
"I'm older..." he teases, a few seconds later.
It always comes to this.
I'm out of time.
I make an appointment, put it off, like it makes a difference.
I can't lie. Not to him.
We walk through the park where I would go to get away from you.
I tell him the truth, but not all of it. "I'm sort of crazy...
Someone hurt me. It happened a long time ago."
It's still happening.
No, not that. Everything else.
He smiles politely; maybe uncomfortably...not sure how he should respond.
"Wow."
"So this is why I'm like this." (I don't go into what "this" is; I hope - stupidly - that he can tell).
"Okay", he says, still smiling.
Now I know that smile was him accepting it. Accepting me.
Then, I thought I knew it was over...and so it was.
I ended it. He said the words, but they were moot.
I ruined yet another thing I wanted, long before that. Because of what you did!
It always comes to this...me paying for your sins.
And yes, I have forgiven.
But you - you wouldn't even show me the courtesy of acknowledging it.
Yes, I know, you never did anything. We don't talk about it.
Every muscle frozen in fear, and every gasp; every flinch at someone's unexpected touch
even if they have my love
Every wall that traps me inside myself
just when I think I am going to get out
They all know.
And I know.
"Forgive and forget", I was taught.
It's a good thing I know now that you can do one without the other.
I will never forget.