Possible trigger warning for sexual assault. Something jerked my memory recently, and this is how I cope.
Are there people in the world who don’t feel what I feel
Whose hearts don’t pound in fear
When they walk past a dark-haired boy
Who looks a little like the one who wouldn’t stop?
Are there people who wouldn’t freeze
And let his hands go where they shouldn’t?
Are there people who’d just block out
The filth that came pouring from his lips?
Are there people who wouldn’t cry out
And scratch their nails across his mouth?
Are there people who wouldn’t fumble with their belts
Try and yank their jeans up but their hands shake?
Are there people out there who don’t cry
Because he got too far inside?
Are there people who wouldn’t run
And trip and fall and bleed, undone?
Are there people who wouldn’t hide
And bottle it all up inside?
Are there people who lock the memories away
And never let them out again?
Are there?
