CW: Childhood sexual abuse, death
Chasie wasn’t the only game
you took fancy to, hidden
away from grownups
who partied in the dining room
where my school bag laid
near the breakfast bar. My childhood
devoured by a monster
with hands three times my size.
Memories of your beanstalk
figure breathing down my neck—
my growing buds, your prey.
You rejected my plea to stop
and my mother’s fiery bellows
to quit smothering my lungs
but no didn’t feature in your vocabulary.
I became a doll, lifeless
in your arms. Juvenile adults
still believed you were child friendly
and the red flags didn’t bleed
enough for anyone to lock
you out of my house.
I Googled your real name,
searched for a jail term, a life sentence,
for reams of young girls
you lifted onto monkey bars,
to leer at the skirts
that fell past their barbie studded ears.
Instead, the results showed your face
that compared my pre-teen breasts
to pincushions with a link
to your live-streamed funeral.
I took a pen and paper
from the drawer in my desk
that once sat a pink rock
you told me to keep a secret.
I began to write:
Passed away painfully,
suffering at the mercy of a miserable disease
that began in the penis and ended in the lonely heart…
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