3/30


Days after a complete stranger kisses your lips without your permission

You struggle to give language to the way you feel

Filth doesn’t feel very far from the surface

It lingers like a dead rat taking forever to decompose

And a little guilt lives under the surface

But trapped guilt is like mercury, it will slip through the tiniest crack

And you’ve been carrying it quietly,

Waiting for an opportunity to trash it

Because how else do you make sense of a random unknown man,

Whose muscle memory will even entertain the thought

of touching a woman without her consent?

 

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