Forget.

I Was a child then.  My t shirt said rock star. My hair was crunchy from gel and my make up wasn’t blended.  I was a freshman in high school.  Just fourteen. Barely out of the middle school scene.  You weren’t attractive.  You didn’t drive a nice car.  But you had your own place and i wanted to get away.  I wanted to get far away. 

I bet you’d like to forget about me.  But I hope my face haunts you in your sleep.  I hope the inside of your lip where my braces cut you still bleeds. I hope when your wife runs her fingers through your hair you start to shake cause you remember when you told me to quit pulling it so hard because it’s fake.

I saw you have a daughter now.  I wonder if watching Never Ending Story with her will turn your stomach.  We went to blockbuster and you bought me a copy.

I choked when I looked you up online and saw that the life you brought into this world has a vagina. And I hope no one does to that poor girl’s life what you did to mine.

Was it that I was broken in that made you feel it was less of a sin? Was it that I had done it before,  before,  before,  before,  before… that to you I was just a teenaged whore? You bought my sex with a burrito and escape from my home for a day. I guess I was less expensive the the girls twice my age.  The girls your age.

Was it my acne that made you cave?  My being 15 lbs over weight?  Was it my easiness?  My age?

I hope I weigh down on your conscience.  I hope you realize your offense.  I hope it makes you sleepless.  I know you’ll never confess. I know you’ll never address this in any meaningful way.  But here it is.  I’ve said all I need to say.

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