I see…
A pair of ripped stockings thrown across the chair.
I see..
A used condom he used lying there.
I have…
A torn pair of panties still attached.
I have…
Smeared mascara on my face…, image that.
I have…
A runny nose, and I’m looking for tissue.
I see…
Scattered bottles of beer and the latest Playboy issue.
I see…
Red numbers from the electronic clock on the night stand.
He has…
Swollen knuckles on his hand.
I hear…
The sound of the air conditioning humming in the background.
I can’t believe…
This date turned into my worse let down.
I can’t believe…
He said he didn’t rape me, but didn’t he?
I can’t believe…
He said that it was consensual, how could this be?
I feel…
Like the discarded bone from a pork chop that someone has nibbled on.
I feel…
Like the rind of the watermelon that has been bitten on.
I feel…
So foolish to come over here and think that he wasn’t like the others.
I know…
He is the kind of man that you have been warned by all the mothers
Who have experienced this brutality.
I wonder…
Doesn’t he know that while he got his jollies
That this experience will forever haunt me?
I wonder…
If this will never allow me to trust another man.