212/365 [9/30]

You were probably right,
You're not my angel,
you're not my savior.
But from a distance,
I could've sworn you had wings.

Light bounced off your mahogany skin like a halo.
I thought you had healing powers.
I wanted to pat you down to find the potions I needed to feel whole.
I thought I caught a glimpse of my future in your eyes.
Thought one hug could remove the hand-prints of my abuser
and replace the hands of my transient father.

I thought they could be erased if I spent more time around you
It could erase them.

I didn't realize you would just leave more finger prints on my body,
I am a walking crime scene.

Surviving rape is like being stabbed in the chest 37 times and still living,
being drenched in gasoline
and watching a pyro consider you not worth the flame.

I still have his face searing in my memory,
his beady black eyes and a blood coated bed,
still have his hand-print incinerating my body.
I've been branded.

I thought if I belonged to you,
I wouldn't have to wear his stains.
and this crime scene around my neck like a neon sign.

And I wish I didn't fit the stereotype so well
I wish you couldn't know how I walk,
talk,
and act
just by knowing two facts about my past.

I wish you couldn't guess which men I were attracted to
by just getting a brief description of my father.