you, boy:
cookie-baker, hymn singer,
triumphant God-bringer,
there was a cross above your bed, it’s edges
wooden and rounded like broken
excuses.

me, girl:
rolling hill,
pasteurized landscape,
pastel colored sky with a
naive lilt to the lip. Isn’t this
what you wanted? 

you, protector:
watching your adam’s apple bob,
gulping down clean sweet tea with a hunger in your eyes;
I’ve seen that look before. You grip my wrists so
hard.

me, child:
I haven’t had a moment alone in awhile,
strong hands hold me cupped open like a fluttering
hummingbird. My wing is
wounded.

you, aggressor:
dark hallways and crackling fires form shadows,
form you. Your slaps have stopped stinging; this is what
those used to fear would call
tolerance.

me, in denial:
hair falls out, foundation disappears as
I slather on powder to hide evidence. 
your mouth, lazy with contempt,
my cheeks soak up with blood.

you, monster:
there was a cross above your bed,
and it shook with your thrusts,
I was begging you to stop with my eyes fixed
on the crucifix, I
thought it might fall on me.

me, victim:
the word “rape” was foreign in my mouth
but I ran it over my tongue, touched it to my teeth,
made the unfamiliar a place of worship. Brand this crime
into my heart, I will not forget who you
really are.