Peace Treaty


I’m not going to call it rape
because that’s too violent a word for                   what was relatively quiet               outside
because rape is the wrong word
because                         if you’re with someone and both of you know that you don’t want it
but it happens
surely you can’t both claim ignorance.

I’ve no issue with ‘out there’ but      lack of connection      in and out and on and in and on

5adayeveryday now later now promisenowifyoulovedme now

more if he could stuff it.

I kept pace         I ran hard and fast until my lungs burned and I sweat purring                            for a while
but l                    life                       kicked in concoction of stress and medication                              slowly uneased                                                                        stripped

Why? Why don’t you want it anymore? You used to. Don’t you love me?

Why why why why why why WHY…

I wish I got it, I don’t get any of it       I used to…        I definitely used to      but then             having said that

I got shit for not wanting to leave a party we’d been at for 5 minutes      I got shit        for not finding somewhere in the middle of the woods to            ‘hide’                I got shit             for not being where I was meant to be or who I was meant to be with
the dog beat unpredictably is the most loyal                     it wasn’t             I wasn’t
got to a state where I’d just

let him get on with it

because somehow it was easier                                           than the yelling and the crying                         the emotional vortex                   to just lie there and try to blank out            the room spin                but 9 times out of 10 I wasn’t                                                                                                         there.
9 times out of 10                           I wasn’t.

he admitted once he’d known…                             …and continued anyway…               but then he                      pulled faces and grabbed and whined                 made a show of me

“what’s wrong?” “Nothing” “okay”

but funny how blood seeps through honeycomb             funny how                       eventually my body decided for me what my head couldn’t                      and I couldn’t anymore                              hide it anymore
feel my skin shrivel up inside myself       cold water thrown on a bitch in heat                              the echo
of snapping skin     pushed rings of dry muscle apart as it tried     desperately         to cling    to crawl up into my throat
I’d hide my face                             bite my tongue                silence the mutters

please just finish please just finish please just finish

and then he’d yell and cry                         at that…             though he’d never felt me anyway
and it’s funny how                       weak                                            you become
how                                   silent                   how                                   unsure                              so…
so I’d beg                                                   unbecoming
literally beg                 him through tears                         to just                 ‘get on with it’
so the fighting would stop                                                                                    I want it to stop.  and sometimes he would                       and sometimes he’d just grow bitter

I’m not                worried about you thinking on these things…
I’m just afraid                  of my consequence                      if I’m ready to be loved
if I want to be

because love isn’t blind
but it could blind me into a stupor where I knew what I believed             for three minutes
and I could say I loved a man                                                             who didn’t understand me
into believing I knew myself
and I don’t know if that’s how it really happened                                         or just how it felt..
It’s                       scary
because it reminds me how uncertain I am
it’s                       scary
because it took me getting so drunk I started screaming and punching walls
cutting myself open and praying I’d bleed out though I’d never found an artery to realise                                                                                                     it was real..
it’s                       scary
because that’s how black and white I need things to be
because that’s how I function                                                                   but things so rarely are

he never really knew what I wanted       but neither did I
there was no sensitivity in it
where it shrouded into blurred cuts of meat                    broken toys…

and I don’t think either of us have learned

I wish I got it                    I don’t get any of it                       how
insecurity played more than fear                           how
a temper was more frightening than                                   losing my own body
than losing him
how                                   I let him
how      it wasn’t really fear
just…                   self-destruction
how it wasn’t really rape                           because I never said no

but                                                                  I never said yes either



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