Her babysitter raped her when she was 13
She keeps revisiting the scene of the crime
At 16, it was her first cousin
By then it was consensual.
She's a little taller than me
With dark, sad eyes.
Before we leave the bar,
I freshen my lipstick,
comb my short blond hair,
And flatten out the wrinkles
in my t-shirt.
Now, back at her place,
She reaches for me way too soon
So I can only pull back a little nonplussed;
I don't want to be her girl-toy.
But when she says, "Love me, I'm hungry"
I see something of myself in her.
I snuggle my cheek against her neck, and
stroke her hair. I want to make her smile.
But her gloom only deepens,
And turns into a frenzied sexuality:
"You have to tell me!" she screams angrily,
biting my neck. Her parents abandoned her
at an early age; she lived with her grandfolks.
I know too well what she wants to hear:
"I'll never leave you!" I say, "I love you."
She gets excited, and a little vulgar
Reciting the litanies of lesbo flicks
Designed for men.
When my eyeliner starts to run
She cries "YES! YES!!!"
Not comprehending why my tears flow.
What was once others' power over her
Has become her power over me
Power in her hands, power in her tongue
Power in her breasts, power in words that
cut like knives.
"Love me, I'm hungry," she says.
She chews me up and spits me out
And leaves me for dead, and goes
looking for another lipsticked babe
who'll listen to her stories
and want to ease her pain.
Holly N. posted this on AOL back in 1993. I downloaded it, and it has been languishing on my hard drive ever since. Thank you, Holly N., whoever and wherever you are.