idk if i can call this poetry

11:04am**

this hasn't happened before.

i mean, that flashback has replayed in my head a lot of times,

but this one really hurt.

maybe because i realized how young i really was.

it was two years ago.

before me and you started dating.

i was 14.

it was november. 

it was the first sleepover i would ever have with my first real boyfriend.

we were watching a movie on the couch,
it was late
and his mother had fallen asleep next to us.

he looked at me in a way i hadn't ever seen him look at me before.

he kissed me.
i let it happen.

he touched me.
i began to tremble.

he held me down.
i said nothing.

"why are you shaking?"
"i dont know."

he began to take off his shirt.
i looked at his mother.

i panic.

i am 14.
i am 14.
i am 14.

14 year old relationships should be holding hands while walking through a park
and dates every so often, but mainly just hanging out at each others houses.
it should be chocolate on valentines day,
and kisses on the cheek and maybe,
if you're lucky,
your first kiss.

not this.

this isnt what 14 year olds do.

i scramble to get up.
he grabs my arms and holds me against the couch.

i focus on the tv.

i pray that his mother wakes up.

she doesnt.

"please.. im tired. i want to go to bed."

"now? cmon, we are having fun."

"no, i just- im tired. please, i just want to go to sleep."

i beg for him to let me go.

eventually, he does.

he goes upstairs to his room, obviously very proud
that he got to feel what a woman feels like.

except i was not a woman.
i was 14.

silent tears fall and drip into the carpet.

i decided that day that i was going to tell everyone i knew that i was asexual.
even though i didnt really know.

i yelled it from the rooftops so that maybe,
if everyone knew that i wasnt interested,
maybe if he knew,
then id never have to go through that again.

but then i woke up the next morning.
and we went to his lakehouse.

and we were downstairs,
in the basement.

his grandmother asleep.
his dad working in the yard.

and i was on the couch again,
with a certain individual on top of me.

this time, i shove him off and manage to get up.
we break up not long after.

but he won.
because he stole something from me i could never get back.

no, he did not rape me.

but he sure did take me innocence away,
and stole my first kiss,
and he made me afraid.

and now every time anyone asks me who my first kiss was,

i cringe.

i shiver as i feel his hands everywhere.
again.

i remember that i did nothing to stop it, so he probably didn't even know he was doing anything wrong.

i smile.

"nobody."