he took something from me that he can't easily give back.
he didn't borrow it like he borrowed pens in grade school and my heart in seventh grade
his fingers felt like ice as his hand plunged below my belt and he caressed me as if it belonged to him
asking if i liked it in that gravely voice
me blindly agreeing because he'd told me he loved me
if you love someone you let them do these things
that's what my mother taught me
he took something that wasn't his to take
he would grab my hand and rub it against his penis
"you like that baby girl" he would moan
"no" i would think
the panic attacks in my dark room at midnight weren't particularly my favorite
he wasn't the one
he would swear those other girls he talked to didn't mean a thing
he was in a tough situation he would say
the phone calls he would abruptly end when i entered the room did seem suspicious enough
he didn't mean a thing
i would tell this to myself
it's a thing people do right?
they have flings and perform casual handjobs in the bathroom
the word slut would come to mind often but i would swallow it like the medicine i swallowed to be able to breath
he was just a thing
i tell myself and the people who ask about him
the word him stinging as it comes up my throat and out of my mouth like bile during those midnight poison spells
he's just a boy and i'm more than him
i still think of him sometimes
and the person he's with
he wasn't worth it
he wasn't worth me.
