Comes now Justice's scale,
and the harsh light of scrutiny,
bearing judgement with it's warmth,
and a thousand other things
scorn, insensitivity, depravity all,
does not the mob have a conscience?
all the things that maim or kill,
none like the knife weilded by mine own hand.
Years have passed since the whispers fell from the lips
the curious stares, the silent questions,
I was but 15, and heard it from afar,
"Maybe he lied about it?"
Truth is absolute, but perception is human,
people make up juries, sit on benches and offer counsel,
police are not infallible,
only one thing is certain....
when I say the icky parts, they all see my tears,
they are entranced as I describe
the trip he made from stranger to lover
and all the ignored betrayals along the way,
Conjecture about size, friction and length,
exams, tearing, and physical evidence,
don't they see, don't they know?
the tears arenít down there...they are deep in my mind.
"Accuser" they call me, to keep from stating the obvious,
VICTIM would be correct, but unfair or inflammatory,
SURVIVOR too would be too prejudicial I guess,
I guess PREDATORY PEDOPHILEíS PERSONAL BUTT BOY might be as well,
the betrayal that hurts and bothers me so badly,
isn't the crowd or the public or even HIM,
it was when I first realized completely and truly,
I was just a blow up sex doll with a heatbeat.
It was knowing that I didnít really matter,
That it wasnít a crime, or he would have been incarcerated,
That my parents thought I lied, and no one believed me,
And that I was just a whore, nothing more.
"One day this will all be history, no longer the focus of time travel, no longer a reality in my life, but a memory of survival, just like that time I ran out of gas, or had a kidneystone, isn't it funny those didn't really wind up defining me, and yet, he stuck his penis in me, and that is who I am."