Numbers

He came galloping in on a white horse. Intense eyes, chiseled jawline, and elvish grin. Hair catching the slightest flow of wind, he stepped down from his large beast, removed himself from the gargantuan animal and revealed his own immense height.

Towering over me was a formidable opponent. Masked as a lover, I would like to think I had unknowingly taken Lucifer to bed; the truth being I knew exactly the dance I was tangled in. There were no horns, no pitchfork, no tail to whip me into submission. He was very much so the Morning Star they described through ancient text.

He glowed, his aura was blinding and coaxing like moth to flame, like butterflies to death.

He exuded this impeccable and haunting essence. His energy tangible, like hanging rope yanking me into gravity's pressure and leaving me lifeless, dangling in the abyss.

I was not prepared for the angels face Satan still wore, nor was I prepared to become the living sacrifice at his altar.

This being left no room for me to grow, no room for me to breathe. I'll name him Boa for the way his constricting grip no longer brought me pleasure, his choking only brought me to my knees. I was shaped and molded to worship a serpent, whose tongue spit venom like rainfall in the tropics.

How could I be angry at the serpent, whose only way of life is to slither and slink in shadows? How could I be surprised by the biting of my heels and the poisoning of my insides? The toxins kept me hallucinating; a deadly trip I still blame myself for falling...

This fantasy faded only to reveal the shedding of his skin; coming to realize hissing is his true form.

A snake can only ever be a snake. It's my fault I let him bite me.

He didn’t have to hit me. Didn’t have to lay a finger on me to cripple and beat me down. He didn’t make me cower in fear but somehow around him I always found myself seeking to appear smaller. Shrinking away from him, hoping to be invisible as to not get in his way or destroy his ego.

I am a repeated rape survivor. I never expected to be woken from sleep to find his greedy fingers seeking warmth in my insides. The parking lot. The movie theatre the bed we shared the sofa while taking a nap.

He unapologetically grabbed my tender parts and only apologized after his satisfaction was met. I had been dehumanized and made into a sex object by the very being I was set to marry.

Long hot showers did nothing to cleanse the filth he left behind and only my therapist knew my shame.

I’m so angry and disgusted with my self. My skin still crawls thinking about how damaged I became while accepting his love. I the victim made out to be the aggressor while his actions are further enabled by his friends.

I stopped feeling worthy of life long before he convinced me to hate my body. I was a contortionist bending by any means but he only took my flexibility as a challenge and trophy to be won.

I stopped needing him to wake me from my nightmares because I started living them. Every moment we were together became a trigger, another fear of being met with sexual frustration masked as romantic comedy.

My voice lost in the thunderstorm surrounding me. At least that was the excuse I gave... he didn’t stop because he didn’t understand how it was hurting me... but what is there to understand when no will always mean no and stop will always mean stop. Space will always mean give me room, and no I won‘t forgive you.

I wore the shackles no one saw and you wore the smile that blinded them from my truth. No I can’t forgive you.. slither back into your darkness. Curl up into your hole. I am no longer locked in your dance. I am no longer powerless.