3

I stood in the shower

for three hours

after the first time.

Bits of my skin floated down

toward the drain.

It was so hot that the steam

rose and covered me

but it never got quite hot enough

to wash away

your prints from my skin.

I tried.

How childish of me to believe

I could ever wash away

all traces

of what you did to me.

You know you want it too.

I’ve never felt so dirty before

like all your bad intentions

were released inside me.

You didn’t even try to pull out

at the end.

And now my skin is branded

with graffiti

of your hands and kisses

the glaring evidence you left all over me,

trying to lay claim to territory

that was never yours to begin with.

Just relax.

After the second time

I couldn’t sleep for three days.

I stayed in bed

for three whole days

so my family thought I was sick.

How could I tell them about the illness

that was threatening to kill me?

No one would ever believe

I was slowly dying

because of sex. On the third day

they tried to coax me out of bed.

Told me they missed me.

I told them I was missing me too.

And they looked at me

like maybe I was the one

who was crazy. Could it be?

If you ever tell anyone, they’ll never believe you.

The third time it happened

I started bleeding profusely

and the blood ran from me

like it would never stop.

I almost drowned in my own blood.

It was my mother who found me.

She slapped me across my face.

Are you crazy girl, she asked me.

You could’ve died, she screamed.

Don’t you ever think about anyone

besides yourself?

All I’d been doing was thinking

since the day you first

stole from me

something you had no right to own.

Since you moved into my body

and made me feel like I was the one

who was trespassing. Locked in

my own skin, I’ve been trying

to escape since you decided to move in.

Everybody knows the type of person you are.

It’s scary inside my body now.

I never noticed the voices before

and I never knew how hard it could be

to clean away built-up grime and dirt.

How did I get so fucking dirty?

I’ve been washing and bleaching

and cutting, trying to excavate

the filth you filled me with.

It’s not easy to fight a terrorist.

That’s why I’ve never signed up

to be a soldier in a war.

I never wanted a fight.

All I ever did was say hello.

Peace & Love,

Rosalind