by ASHLEY MCNALLY
“This is crazy,” you say, when I tell you what you did wrong. Because you had no clue.
You even call me by my nickname — “Remember all the good times we had, Ash? Times when you felt so low about yourself and it was me who made you feel beautiful?” Yeah. I remember.
But I also remember when you pressed me against me kitchen counter saying, “I’m gonna go all the way in, okay?” not even asking me if I was okay with it or not, not even looking to see if I was alright.
I remember when you, the one who supposedly made all my bad thoughts go away with three simple words, shoved yourself in me on the count of three.
I remember clenching my fists together and shutting my eyes tight while tears streamed down my face and into my mouth like rivers.
I remember telling you NO and STOP and watching you do it anyway.
I remember you ignoring my cries like a newborn child in a crib, like a dying bird in a forest too thick for sound.
I remember the countless therapy sessions, the endless cries, the panic attacks that seemed to go on forever.
I remember. I remember it all, and I won’t stop until you get what you deserve.
ashley is a 19-year-old queer woc poet who is currently taking up a creative writing course at a local community college. she hopes to transfer to a state university sometime soon to either do something with writing or become a sign language interpreter.