Believe

You forced me open.
You knew exactly what you were doing.
My blood spilled as you moved deep within me; I felt things I'd never felt before.

You wanted me, demanded me, and insisted that I feel it.
You knew what it would do, who I would become.
You drove it deep, penetrating every opening that you wanted, and it changed me forever.

I'll never be the same.

The world in my head is now much bigger; possibilities expansive
And my raven-eyed spirit bends the wind and harnesses it for a new purpose; even as it spills out of my swollen lips.
Overflowing from deep within the sheltered corners, and the Creag an Turic which had always protected me.

The hurt you promised to deliver, then heal.

I wanted to believe in something, in someone, in objectivity as a reward for my sex.
I chose to believe in you, what you offered, and what you made me; a piece of art to be admired, touched, probed, discussed in small groups.
And that challenged everything else I'd ever believed.

It also challenged what you believed.

You fought it because it hurts to believe I would believe, that I would be willing to be fucked as you wanted, without regard to where or who watched.
I fought back because I could see how big the world you offer is.
You fought harder because you can't believe that I was willing to give everything, to become the image you for so long carved and shaped on the potter's wheel.
I fought even harder because we have to believe.
I almost died because you cared for me, you pressed me, you demanded gratitude, and I was ripe for the taking.
You didn't care and hit it harder.

When it heals I will never trust again.

But it will never heal.
I will trust the men that hurt me, that use me, that leave me soiled and filled with their salty labor…over and over again, forever.

I wish I could stop believing but I can't.

I still believe in you.