1996?

a sunny day, outside. i thought of jumping down, hurting myself, instead of... (what was this?) i could have hurt myself instead of...he...what was he doing? and i justified his actions to justify myself,

because 

i didn't want to jump, 

scrape my knees 

and elbows 

and hands,

didn't want to break my young bones. but broken bones would have made me stronger. breaking the soft bones would have been a wonderful past to carry into the present and future.

childish

(rather cute) 

i shifted slightly,

twisted my neck, 

squirmed like a worm.

no. 

he was the worm. 

a disgusting piece of slimy shit.

no more than mere discomfort then.

no more than something

i didn't tell my mother.

not that day.

i waited. i forgot,

the details had escaped,

but the worm had stayed,

now grotesque...

is it smiling at me,

looking at my mouth,

the lips that refused

to open and the tongue

that would not talk?

i can't...

remember 

what year it was.

just his hands.

i remember 

his wormy hands,

my silence,

on a bright, sunny day.