Victim and Perpetrator

So I got really drunk,
So I felt you up.
So I felt your gentle hand move mine away.

So I slept a while.
So I awoke, panicked.
So I tried to leave.
And nobody let me.

So there were sirens down the street.
So I worried.
So you calmed me.

So I apologized again
And again
And again.

So you consoled me,
So you said things would be better in the morning.
So you said we’d do homework together
And bum out and eat together.

So I wanted to cry.
So I wanted to know where everybody goes.
Where is my dad?
Where is my aunt?
Where am I right now?
Where will I be going?
How did all of these things flow so easily through my rocking brain?

And you were kissing him and he was kissing you all over and I was watching it happen.

I had to leave. I had to get out of that house. I wanted to sleep in my bed and I didn’t want you to do what you did.

So I left.

I’m glad I did, even though I sat in the shower and tore at my legs and wrote myself a lovely poignant, drunk hate note.

That night I was a victim and a perpetrator.

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