it always rains in June

 
It’s been fifteen years  
but I can still remember my blood
on your bedsheets
 
I drive past the street  
you used to live on  
but it no longer  
gives me panic attacks
or reminds me of you  
most days I don’t think  
of you at all  
 
They knocked down the old church  
building where we met  
where I sought solace from a home  
that didn’t really want me  
but didn’t want the world  
to have me either  
 
You were cool, older  
mysterious  
you acted the gentleman  
when you asked my father  
if we could date  
I’ll never know why he said yes
or why my parents broke the pattern  
of overprotectiveness  
 
Because I couldn’t read the signs  
when you guilted me into losing my clothes  
my blood on your hands  
on your cock  
on my clothes after I miscarried  
with no one there to help me  
pick up the broken pieces of myself  
that my family pretended weren’t broken  
because rape is just a thing that happens
 
It’s been fifteen years  
but I can still remember my blood
on your bedsheets
 
© Indie Adams 2016