*CW rape/sexual assault*
i'm bored of writing about my rapist 

i'm bored of writing about
my rapist so i'm going
to write about his desk--
his notebook
laying open-- his 
pokemon figures attentive  
in rows-- his desktop
computer skin cracked 
from all the knots in
my hair-- my body 
in his lap-- warm 
of each other's skin--
alone under my
own covers i would
fear the warmth of my
own skin-- pray that
my blood would drain
in the shower--leaving
me empty-- a 
desk figurine--
me akimbo in a blank
note book page--
write the Pythagorean 
theorem over my face--
hypotenuse girl--
bite my ears off so 
i don't have to hear 
his voice--
i'm going to write
about his back yard--
his swing set--
his gnarled trees shrugging
their shoulders at us--
the abandoning 
flush of song birds
deserters like
my own voice--
years later when you 
called me blue bird
i would think of 
his bird feeder & the seed 
spilling onto
the lawn 
& my body up against 
tree torso & 
his swing set--
& his swing set 
& wanting to sit--
have my father push
me higher & higher
until i burst into
a song bird too--
i'm going to write about
his couch &
little room there 
was for our bodies--
the creak floor board--
cool bare feet--
shoes by the door--
we all know 
rape isn't warm like
this-- 
has doesn't have a bed
post or desk with
pokemone figurines 
or a notebook of unfinished
geometry homework--
kiss collar bone full of
craters--
the evacuation 
my blood was gradual--
if i told you
maybe you would
ask why it took
me so long to notice
my own body's vacancy--
leaking out from
my ears into white headphones
strumming
my spine numb--
i want to write
about the way he grabbed 
my hair--
i want to write
about it because it's 
the one thing i haven't
moved on from--
i can say his name--
i google him sometimes
to devour each fragment
of his voice left in 
me-- each handful of
myself he groped--
yanked-- cracked 
open egg on the counter--
yolk on my fingers--
he taught me what
the bird are for flushing
& the swing is for
waiting 
but my hair my hair
a knot of my hair--
wake up--
knots on the bed posts--
my hair clung to
walls-- to desk legs--
wrapped tighter & tighter 
a noose 
hung from the ceiling
fan-- 
his hands are here now--
now without a body--
his hands come back--
searching enough of
my hair to pull me down 
into his bathroom sink--
his bathroom with
hair gel & deodorant 
by the faucet--
his bathroom where i washed
my face--
he says 
he likes my red underwear--
only the red ones--
i need more
like that--
i want to write
about my bed room
window back at home--
standing naked there
& using the window
as a full length mirror
that night when i understood
that every
part of my body was 
hollow--
i started by opening
the window--november
air--goose bumps--
i want to write about
the birds--
cardinals & chickadees &
who could forget
the morning doves--
the guilt they carry--
my voice my voice
my voice 
is there's now--
they repeat it
back to each other--
they say there was
his swing set--
there was his knotted
hair