Why I am grateful for my sexual abuse, the childhood stuff anyway
Because I turned it into art, childfucker! What are you doing now? Selling kiddie porn on the internet? Sweeping up the popcorn that sticks in the XXX? Huh? Trying to keep the old man's park hands from patting your 5-year-old's Osh Kosh a little too long on the push up of the swing set, wondering how long you can hold out before your fingers find their way in there, past the play ground and into another excuse for your damage? HUH? Are you going to put your cock in her mouth to see if she likes it? Maybe she won't scream either, Instead I hope she bites it off. Because I earned every orgasm the hard way, stroking with sutures my heart to my cunt. I know my body more intimately, she has pinned me down with flash backs, blocked my pleasure I paid attention, made sure sex is on my terms now. I am grateful that god gave me something I could handle something so I know what to do when another feels their fissures more than their whole. I am grateful strong, pleased as pleased punch actually, that I know what that cannonball feels like when it strikes my gut and puts me out of commission to help myself. I know how to stand when she becomes silent, swallowing everything she knows trying to shit it out like a cheap public school hot dog. I know to be soft and unmoving next to her ready to catch when the knowledge burbles back, hiding in her intestines Because I earned every poem the hard way, I am grateful, oh lord That you have chosen to melt my copper with zinc To shine blades of bronze through the sun Laughing and fighting and cumming Our way into exaughstion and dreams of the next world we bring to the earth each day That will make this one worth it Somehow I will always be the assaulted before the assaulter My soul bouncing Always somewhere intact
Copyright © Samantha Barrow
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