I was so proud of my work:
teaching the beast to bare its teeth
to stop cowering in the corner of the cage.
I fed it confidence like raw meat.
Watched it grow bold.
Watched it grow hungry.
I taught him to step into his power,
to follow desire,
to take what he wants.
He did.
I was collateral.
I guess it's what happens
when you are a beastmaster.
Maybe they’re right.
Maybe I asked for it.
I used to stand outside the bars and admire my creation.
Nearly twice my weight,
a head taller.
Thrilled at the size of him, the power I'd helped unleash.
I used to think that was hot.
I still do…
until I remember how trapped I was,
flattened inside his arms.
He wanted a final show.
A last hurrah.
He didn't ask.
No, beasts don't ask.
They take.
He played with his food.
Wore me down.
Until I gave in.
In his fantasy, I want it too.
I just wasn’t playing my role correctly.
So he escalated.
Soft voice.
Hard insistence.
I missed my cue,
forgot my choreography.
He tried all his old tricks to make me perform:
“Touch yourself.”
My body - a circus animal that wouldn't jump through the hoop.
Not like this.
Not on demand,
not for someone else's hunger.
Then his hands, a collar at my throat.
"I want you to cum" said sweetly, like a threat.
So I obeyed.
I reached for a toy,
like a tranquiliser dart.
I did the trick.
Like a trained seal balancing his story.
See? Proof she wanted it.
Invisible audience applauds.
I’m furious at my body for complying.
It froze, it fawned.
Animal instinct.
My body knew what my mind refused:
it clocked the predator, played dead, did what prey does.
Stupid animal.
It did what it was bred to do:
survive.
It’s my mind that won’t shut up.
It wasn’t…
I can’t say it.
I wanted it?
I didn’t.
It wasn’t clear.
It was crystal.
Just a bad lay.
You’ve had worse.
Forget it.
I can’t.
He chose himself
the way beasts always do,
the way I taught him to.
And I'm still here,
forever forgetting I am an animal too,
that I need protecting too.
And still,
I’m angry at my boyfriend
who thinks false accusations
fly like confetti.
Reality:
confetti is dust
against the mountain
of everything that never gets named.
Look at me.
Too scared.
Too ashamed.
Too confused.
Too busy blaming myself
to ever speak.
Look at me.
Not plotting revenge.
Not calling the police.
Not trying to destroy anyone.
Look at me…
I’m barely letting myself say the word.
He took something from me
I didn’t want to give.
No, no.
Tell the story right:
the beast nuzzled,
the master stayed in control.
A huge misunderstanding.
A small scratch.
Coercion doesn’t pounce
it corrals.
What makes this crueller
is that coercion prowls the grey.
I was raised
on black and white,
taught to tame monsters,
never taught
to name them.