You seemed to be scratching at the surface
Manifesting and procreating in the swallows of my innards until
the moment I said it
you appeared

Through a whimper
You were born

And my claims-claw at me
(I knew it was wrong)

Those voices in my head keep saying: you’re a little whore

Over and over again
Until I can take it no more

The images return and I only wish
To
Forget

I can’t own the anger

Yet the realization shouldn’t define me
But it will

VICTIM

Sitting thick under my tongue
So every time I speak
I’ll taste it
Hesitation free

I’m afraid it will be etched into my wedding vows
research papers

or future bed time stories

Little whore
Little whore

Little

Fucking
Whore

(who never said no.)