because I'm sick of feeling for you

it’s been eighteen days since

your breath charred my skin

and fingertips lacerated the trust 

I once revered as unblemished.

now I know what it is like

to wail in agony underneath

the dimly lit shower head,

diminished to the stains I cannot rinse from these pores. 

and I feel your presence in places, songs,

the memories I should never have permitted you access.

I feel my hips shrivel, hollow as the

anchor of disregarded screams hardens its clutch.

and my throat has been raw for weeks

as my blood acidifies and encases 

how fearful I have become of your hungry eyes.

oxygen serves as a reminder that you 

cannot control my respiration with your grimy hands.

and as I awaken, writhing through what 

I can’t restrict as darkness approaches,

my body relives your invasion again. 

and despite the contortions I endured,

my eyes grimace at the prospect of loneliness.

and even though the danger of you is removed,

you were for so long all I confided in. 

i want to reclaim my body for myself

and whoever will listen to the first

“no” my mouth curates 

and whoever will feel 

the absence of my consent.