This is related to my previous post, although it does not strictly follow the other. These two together capture the tumultuous emotions that swirled within me after listening to conversations surrounding a molestation allegation. Why not earlier? Why anonymous? Why not a formal complaint? Perhaps this is why. She replies.
How could I? She replies
How could I come out with tales
Of rough hands and sharp nails
That grazed places it shouldn’t.,
Of hungry glances
That licked the smile off my lips
Drank the sway off my hips
Till I lay cold and motionless.,
How could I name
When I knew that shame
Was an inheritance
Meant to adorn my body alone.
How could I, when I know
That I can remember.
That I can remember
The time when I stayed out past midnight
The day my shirt hugged my bosom
And the skirt my thighs.
That I can remember
The one time I sipped on a cocktail
Of laughter and merriment
And spewed dirty secrets.
That I can remember
The rare ride I accepted
The white lie I once told
The kiss I once stole in high school.
How could I speak out,
When I know that if I can remember all this,
So can you.
How could I, when I’d rather
Build a tattered facade
Than dare see my vices on display.
How could I,
When I’d rather make myself forget
Than make you remember.
Serendipitous Rambling 
Time heals nothing.
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