Love, but Not Love

trauma poem yay

i remember everything.

i think that's actually the worst part of all this,

not being able to forget your breath on my goosepimpled neck,

your tongue wrestling my lips and forcing a path down my throat.

if i remember correctly, 

(and i'm sure i do),

you called it love.

you took your love and poured it down an oesophagus that didn't want to be loved by you.

your love 

(not love)

burrowed its way into my stomach

and burnt worse than the vodkas i drink to forget what you called love.

if an infant has fetal alcohol syndrome,

or is born a drug addict,

it did not consent to taking these drugs but is now hooked.

that is how i see our relationship.

you poured your poison through me,

infusing my blood with rotten lolita-esque fantasies

that i never consented to,

children cannot consent,

and you called it love.

you spiked a young mind.

put barbed wire where there should be barbies.

and now when i try to remember dolls i remember you.

i wish i could forget how it felt 

to be loved (not loved) by you.

i wish my body learnt to reject you rather than crave you.

no one seems to realise that i depended on you.

being taken advantage of should not make me feel loved,

but you took every piece of me and poured yourself into the cracks.

now my mind is gone off, rotting, ruined.

i wish i had the privilege of forgetting as easily as you.

i wish i didn't feel so alone without the attention,

much as i hated it.

remembering is the worst part.

- j.f.