When he assaulted me, —
but that is the wrong word
Assault
is what they do in video
games,
when the men shoot a
volley of arrows into
the sea of the goblin army
Assault rifle.
No, it is not the right word
But neither is rape. Not
for this. Not for me.
I cannot bear the baggage
of that word. Not
here.
So what I’ll say is that
he took from me
It was a theft that
left me blind
He put me temporarily
in darkness
I had to claw my way
out, clutching my
ribs
He tore out stitches
He chewed me up and
spit the bones out into
stale Manhattan air
I walked home in a hoodie
and could only think one
thought
He took. He took.
I slept in my hoodie
zipped all the way up
as if it could sew up the
pieces he had ripped out
like a bad stitch.
I kept my hoodie zipped
because underneath it
he had rent a hole
a rip in me that
left an emptiness
a black sky void of stars
I’d walk through the city
but now the air went
right through me
I’d try to fill myself up
with reading
and school
and exercise
and sex
and paninis
But it all got swallowed
He stole from me and left
a negative, all-consuming
nothingness
I was the whole black
universe and still something
was missing
I don’t remember when he
took it
Somewhere in the
nanoseconds between
when he held my face
to kiss me
and when he held my
wrists down on the mattress
I only knew when I saw his
eyes darken with an
absolution
A hunger I never saw before
I won’t say rape
I will only use these words
like a loose brick to
strike your cheek
To let fly
your teeth from their
deep roots
To leave you with
gaping sores
These words are only bullets
to pepper and season
your breast, if only
to see the hunger leave
your eyes
But your body is an imposition
I cannot figure out how to
destroy you
And so I am left with only
words
To drain you of your
physical might
So that I can go back in
time
and drain the muscle from
your arms that held me
down
enfeeble the thighs that
stole my thighs
I am left with only words
to fill up the space
and reclaim, remember
what you took.
I am a 23-year-old woman from the suburbs of Maryland, having previously lived in New York for university. I have studied in the fields of English literature, creative writing, special needs, and mental health. The stigma of sexual violence and mental illness is a deeply-rooted issue in today’s society, and literary organizations like this are a pathway to acceptance and healing. My experiences come from a place of pain and loss, a sense of stolen identity. I write about these things to grow, to live in dignity, and to hopefully connect with others who have endured, with the ones who have persevered, with the ones who continue to struggle and battle through every day.