Butterflies

Fallen into the spiral pits of somewhere sunken
Unable to decipher rather it is a victim’s defense mechanism of adjusting to my abuser.
Reliving my un-matured memories of the frozen checkered black and white vinyl tiled floor hugged up against my bare skin and the unfolding mysteries of those forced secret nights building up and collapsing from within me.
 
Muted….unspoken encounters of his callus covered stubs roaming; through my un-ripen body freely.  
In some efforts of reassuring myself that this was just I asked him to crawl in to join me, I recalled bubbles bursting against the rusted ring on the porcelain tub   and the water being milky, flashbacks of Dwayne and Whitney’s first kiss from the television show “A different world” schooled me on pleasing him.

Tilting my head at an angle gently cradling his chin with my hands, pushing myself forward and pressing my lips unto his. Fading his whispers of idol threats of visits from death to my mother while I bathe him.  

Simple minded for an innocent child or too innocent to mind it I was, entrapped in a conditioned behavior, fabricated into the acceptance of mental and physical molestation.
 
I was a pedophile’s best victim, mentally slow cooked melted down and placed into a cast to form an empty shell. Polished with a crooked smile and a cast iron heart I grew up,
tom boyish, antisocial, little bully with a skirt, I became her, as she was who I needed to be. Flirty sometimes when need be, I cocooned into a victimized aggressor.
 
Indulging into it I pulled the hurt towards me. Humor and sarcasm blocked the lashes of pain. Bashing in the mist of heart ache loving and being enraged in it, it craved me.   In blaze and yet at ease I yearn for it. Rather it was intentional or some misfortune relationship, I was there and I was consumed by it.