the hurting

how is it so easy for you
to be kind to people

‍he asked
milk and honey dripped
from my lips as i answered
‍
‍cause people have not been kind to me

the first boy that kissed me
held my shoulders down
like the handlebars
of the first bicycle
he ever rode
i was five
‍
he had the smell of
starvation on his lips
which he picked up from
his father feasting on his mother at 4 a.m.
‍
he was the first boy
to teach me my body was
for giving to those that wanted
that i should feel anything less than whole
‍
and my god
did i feel as empty
as his mother at 4:25 a.m.

you
have been
taught your legs
are a pit stop for men
that need a place to rest
a vacant body empty enough
for guests but no one
ever comes and
is willing to
stay

it is your blood
in my veins
tell me how
i’m supposed to forget

the therapist places
the doll in front of you
it is the size of girls
your uncles like touching

‍point to where his hands were

‍you point to the spot
between its legs the one
he fingered out of you
like a confession

‍how’re you feeling

‍you pull the lump
in our throat out
with your teeth
and say fine
numb really

-midweek sessions

you were so afraid
of my voice
i decided to be
afraid of it too

i’ve had sex she said
but i don’t know
what making love
feels like

if i knew what
safety looked like
i would have spent
less time falling into
arms that were not

you plough into me
with two fingers
and i am mostly shocked
it feels like rubber
against an open wound
i do not like it
you begin pushing
faster and faster
but i feel nothing.

i flinch when you touch me
i fear it is him