The Conversation

i was 16. just a fuckin kid. he was older. stronger. smiling like he wasn’t about to ruin my whole fuckin life.
no one believed me. not really. they said all the right things out loud, but behind their eyes... doubt. judgment. like maybe it was my fault. like maybe i led him on or some other bullshit.

i didn’t. i froze. my body shut down. i remember the ceiling. i remember the smell of his cologne. i remember my own heartbeat in my ears like it was tryin to drown out what was happenin to me.

i’m 35 now and it still follows me everywhere. like a stain i can’t scrub off. i laugh at jokes. i hold conversations. i tuck my kids in. but there’s always this... shadow. this ache in my fuckin chest. like he’s still there. like i’m still that scared, silent girl.

i hate how people just moved on. he got to move on. i didn’t. i’m still stuck. therapy didn’t fix it. time didn’t fix it. nothin fuckin fixed it.

and the shame... the shame’s like a ghost that sleeps next to me.
i didn’t ask for this. i didn’t deserve this. and i still feel broken as fuck.