Made a comment. Or two. Maybe three. Was it four? I lost count.
Called me sweetie, darling, dear, a hot piece of ass, a bitch, a cunt.
Defended your friend, you know, the ‘good’ guy?
Yeah, he raped me.
He also raped my friend.
And two other women.
Rubbed my neck, stroked my arm, touched my leg, smacked my ass.
Tried to grind with me.
Licked my back when dancing.
Made me squeeze past you because you didn’t want to move
knowing I would have to rub my body on your own.
Said a joke.
But it wasn’t funny.
Paid for sex.
Read those magazines, you know, the ones
with the good ‘stories’.
Approached me when I didn’t ask you to.
I ignored you.
You kept talking.
You still wouldn’t leave.
So I had to leave.
Let your eyes slip below my chin during conversation,
over and over and over and over and over and over.
Called to me when I passed you on the street.
Followed me while I was walking.
Followed me home.
Forced your way in.
Forced your way inside me.
Left me to pick up the pieces.
Reflections of a woman spawned in a cement cocoon...