Tell Me, Knight

 

One hour.

Maybe it was less than that,

But it was only that one time,

It took you to ruin me.

 

I play through every word I said,

Remembering like a movie,

I can never unwatch. 

I’m searching for clues,

But I come up empty each time. 

 

I interrogate myself.

I’m on trial as the witness,

Victim,

Criminal,

And prosecutor all in one. 

 

Am I just stupid —

Or did you know what you 

were doing?

Was it all a game?

Do you have a formula to your crime?

 

Maybe I’m still experiencing,

The “morning after” regrets,

Over a year later. 

But I know you knew. 

 

I know you knew I was not okay. 

As I lay there,

Stiff and rigid,

Clutching my left cheek.

You asked me thrice if I were alright.

Every time you were met with silence,

Or indifference. 

 

Three times you knew,

Or knew enough to ask,

But not to stop. 

I sometimes think you are a master manipulator.

Because,

Before it all unraveled,

I told you my doubts. 

My fears,

And my insecurities. 

 

And you warded them off,

Telling me of a story,

About a knight in shining armor,

Who would never harm a girl,

But instead kill a man who would.

 

As you spun your fairytale,

Weaving antidotes of your sister,

Did you know it would subdue me?

Did you use that story,

So I could relax just enough,

For you to wrap me around your finger,

And wait for you to get your release?

 

Hell,

Your face has long blurred in my memories,

And your name —

I’m pretty sure it began with a “K.”

But I remember how you felt,

As vividly as if it were happening right now.

 

The way your lips did not fit on mine,

They were too stiff.

The way your hands grabbed at me,

Needing,

And never caring.

I remember how your car stank of stale cigarettes,

And the windows fogged.

I still feel your breath on my neck, too.

 

I try to think back to the myth of your knight,

And long for a real one to sweep me away.

Deep down,

I know the truth. 

And I know that everything you said,

Was an exploit,

Just to manipulate your way into me.

 

I didn’t even know what you did.

Until seventeen hours later,

And I lay in shock in my bed,

My friends became frustrated in me. 

So they dragged me out of my sweat-drenched nightmares,

And painted a picture for me,

That I refused to see,

Until it was too late.

 

I know how this would go,

If I were to confront you.

I never struggled.

I never said no.

 

But I never said yes.

 

So, 

Tell me,

My theoretical knight:

If you were telling the truth,

And really did make it your mission

To kill the men who hurt women,

Would you then kill yourself?

 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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