The Truth

This isn't a poem. This isn't a tale. This isn't a happily ever after. This is the truth. I need this to escape. I need to talk about it.
I was young.
Too young to know that boys had penises. Girls had vaginas.
Too young to understand pubic hair.
Too young to understand sex.
I was naïve. Naïve enough to believe that mommy would hate me if she knew.
This is how my story begins.  
I remember specifically a couple moments. We had a shed at the back of our yard. It was dark, hot and always smelled of rotting wood. You forced your mouth into mine.
I was a child.
Bright eyed and long blonde hair. I remember losing my favorite hair tie that day. You forced your tongue down my throat. I pulled away. I didn't like how it felt. I didn't like the taste of you. I was confused. I didn't know what you were doing. I didn't like it.
I couldn't stop you.
I COULDN'T STOP YOU.
You layed me on top of a bag.
I was sweating.
I remember the stickiness. I hated it.
I COULDN'T STOP YOU.
I said "i want mommy"
You covered my mouth.
You forced me to take you into my small clammy hands.
You were hard.
I was six.
You were hard, and I was six.
You were 15 and I was six
I.
Couldn't.
Stop.
You.

Fast forward.
It was a Saturday.
Every night for a long time.
I don't know how long.
I was six.
I.
Was.
Six.
I would wake up to my name being whispered.
Your breath was always hot.
You would stick your hand into my cookie monster pajama pants.
I didn't know what was happening,
I would push your hand out.
I was six.
I couldn't stop you.
You were 15.
You were hard.
And I was six.
I would say stop.
You would shove a sock in my mouth.

Fast forward,
I'm ten.
You were 18.
I'm ten and confused,
We were alone.
You were given your own room.
With a lock.
I was only ten.
I don't know how long it lasted.
I only know that I was good at this now.
Look away and go to your happy place,
It became a ritual.
Every night you would wake me.
Rub yourself.
And me.
But tonight was different.
You still stuffed my mouth with a sock.
But this time you whispered.
It will only hurt for a second.
There was some pushing.
And there was some pain .
And it didn't stop for a while.
I was ten.
I still couldn't stop you.

This was the new ritual.
The last day you lived with us before joining the military.
Instead of it only happening once.
It happened several times.
And each time was worse.

I was ten,
You were 18.
You were hard for a ten year old.

I still can't look at you,
I'm 19.
You're 27.
I hate you.

I can't forget.

You're my rapist.
You're my brother.