(Trigger Warning)
Some Saturdays are full of shit
You wake up and find out
How the world is still filled with ugly
It’s more of a making peace, getting there
sort of situation – But never is –
You’re an incorrigible optimist
On most days, except
The day you learn …
Someone got your drunk friend home
And then forgot to leave.
Forgot to ask himself
Whether she deserved to be treated like a human being
And not a blow up doll for his fantasies
I’m twenty eight and desensitised
Been molested at least a dozen times
But nothing quite compares really
To waking up and being confided to
In doubtful half whispers
So hazy they may not have been spoken at all
‘hey, so this thing happened …’
I’d call it an invasion
I’d clarion a war
Or would I?
Or would I just go to sleep
Play pretend at forgetting
Tell myself I must have imagined
The fury I felt
On waking up in my bed
Naked and bleeding and afraid
With no memory of getting there?
literaryfreaktion 