Based in Northern vignia, embwrites is a blog by poet Em. Her works explore themes surrounding self exploration and emotional expression.  

I Was Thirteen

It started with flirting.
Exchange of phone numbers,
of smiles,
of pure possibility –

How funny that it started with such innocence,
the last time I would ever feel that way.
He put his hands on me like I was his property,
and from that moment I would never be the same

I can still feel him inside me,
marking his territory,
soiling me with his touch
like a rabid dog

His hands may have since left,
but their indelible mark still remains –
Imprinted onto my soul,
written in the ashes of my innocence

His tongue forced its way down my neck,
whispering desire for more
More!
Like he hadn’t already taken enough

His arms came around me,
a proclamation of possession
distinctly strong,
acutely threatening

He didn’t need to worry
about me crying out –
my vocal cords were useless knots
tied shut

From my body he cultivated his desire,
sowing the seeds of my destruction
into the fields of his satisfaction,
fertilized by shattered fragments of my soul

Afterward I was discarded,
tilled for all that I was worth
A soulless husk,
plunged into the depths of shame

I could’ve bathed in bleach,
scrubbed myself raw –
it wouldn’t have mattered,
I would always be dirty.

scaffolding

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