NO TRESPASSING

No one ever asked me to the senior prom.

This boy did ask me to the junior prom, though, before reaching for the space between my thighs.

The unwashed walls of the bathroom stalls felt safer than the touch of your skin.

It was the middle of February.

You asked me if I was afraid to be seen with you.

Not just you.

It was almost routine - leaving. I knew it like the back of my hand.

You gave me a sign in only four letters, so I played the game.

I thought about life that way - where every obstacle was just another thing you had to get past.

This was on the list, now, in plain sight.

I remember wanting to remember every detail, as if I knew I would tell stories about it some day.

For some reason, I let you have it. Not because you were special or pretty or good. You just knew what you wanted and, then, it was me.

The sky looked pretty. There were so many stars, fields of long grass, and the rumbling of a train up above.

I lay there, trying to convince myself that it was beautiful.

I wish it actually was.