I am not a small spill on aisle 4 –

A broken jar of olives.

I am punctured steel –

Spewing hazardous waste into the largest body

of water known to man.

A mess too big to clean on your own.

And I will haunt you.

I want you to see me in your daughter’s

face when she turns 17 –

That’s the age you attempted to take away

my voice, in case you forgot.

I hope you see me in every single boy that

takes her out.

I hope you’re afraid that she might be tossed

around like a rag doll in their bed –

unable to say no.

I do not wish this for her.

I don’t want her to know what it feels like to be

stripped of all dignity underneath men she hardly knows

while they do blow in the bathroom and casually high five.

But I want you to be afraid.

I want you to see it every time you close your fucking eyes.

I want the image to break you down to your core.

I want it to ruin you –

like you tried to ruin me.

You see, men like you think women like me are disposable.

You washed your hands of me.

You washed your hands of the blood that you drew when you

forced yourself into my drunken body.

You washed your hands of me –

But I never got the chance to wash away the smell of your

swear on my skin and the feel of your hands.

The stench of your hot breath as you demand that I “watch

my fucking teeth.”

That stuck with me –

like a rusty nail in a swollen piece of wood.

They have stained my skin.

I will carry them with me forever.

I once saw them as a burden too heavy for me to carry.

Now they are the fuel to my fire.

I will burn myself into your memories.

I will make sure that you carry the thought of me forever.

-Abuse