Do you ever think about it, i wonder. Those few weeks when you couldn't get enough of this. When you would watch every move of my elegant and underweight body like a tiger who held a deer in his gaze. you thought that was me, didn't you, the deer. the light, the small. and i would walk around, aware of the watch, inviting the touch that was just a reaction, a reaction to where i was.
do you ever think about pushing me against the wall and pulling me on top of you and almost screaming but for fear of being heard about how beautiful i was, about how much you wanted me or are you too scared for those memories, too scared to remember in case it moves you, and you know that it will never move me.
i think i know the answer.
you don't know anything, i think. you don't know a fucking thing.
afterwards, in your self pity, and there i was, surrounded by lies that made me frightened, and a big over encompassing shit no please no shit fear that took control. alone, except for the possibility. and the illness came back and soon i was back where i started, 15 again, 17 again, wounded and strong. stonger than anyone would ever know, would ever understand.
stronger than you, that's for sure.
and all the time, the fear the worry, counting the days until it was safe again.
and i would think - what will i do? i would sit, holding my belly, wondering what i would do. and i knew the answer. i would take control. and you would be nothing. you would have nothing. if there was anything left over from this, then it would be mine.
you took me out of myself and i forgot what i believed and i forgot what i had been taught, and this was my fault too, don't think i don't know that. i let go of everything i thought to be right and let you take me, i let go of my control and let you hold on to it until i held my belly and took everything back.
and then, afterwards, i forgot who i was. and i thought i deserved it. lying back and taking it, and taking it, and taking it, and playing people off one another and leaving me in the middle, wondering where the fuck it had gone wrong, and hiding my wounds, and opening new ones.
do you ever think about it? do you ever wonder how i hurt afterwards, how i held my belly and rocked on the bed and tore myself open? i didn't even love you! i didn't even like you. but that's proof. that's the one that hurts the worst.
it was a long time ago now. when i think of you, i don't feel anger or hate. i don't feel anything - when i think of you i just remember me.