I never liked the word 'love.'
It was too simple;
and, love is never as easy as it seems.
To him it meant
pinning me in the exact same spot
for what he said would only take two minutes.
It meant telling me that I was pretty
while making me feel like the last molecule
of burned up air in a gas chamber.
I held back panicked breaths
like other kids hold stuffed animals,
with sinister, smiling eyes,
and venom spit splashed across my limbs.
My gritting teeth were sewn shut
with the bone needles of a broken bird;
because after two hours,
he was done
and I was no longer 'pretty.'
YOU ARE READING
Fellchaser
PoetryFellchaser /fehl-ch-acer/ A long-forgotten or suppressed event from your past that could reappear at any time and rip your life apart; that every day, you carry its burden unable to explain it out of fear, regret, or shame - leaving you to wonder if...
