The funny thing about what happened is

I still feel shame

I still struggle to be compassionate with myself now

And I struggle to be compassionate with my younger self

The world creates this conundrum for girls and women

An illusory sense of power

That’s rape culture

You don’t have to be assaulted to experience it

This illusory sense of power

The push that I had the power to choose better

Maybe I did

But I also didn’t have the power to read his mind

The concept that I had the power to dress differently

That how I dressed

Or how much I drank

Reinforces my power

Because I am just that attractive

So I should hide it

Not flaunt it

The shame resides within me

Because I should have said no

Because I should have understood the assignment

Because I should have read his mind

Known his plan

But…

He is the one who had the power

To not f*cking stick his fingers in me in the first place

To not take advantage of my well-known crush on him

To not turn my willingness to experiment momentarily with him into a casket of shame for me

And it was a casket

A part of me died that night

Because he turned me into a slut

And let everyone know just who he thought I was

And rather than anyone

Boy or girl

Questioning this sudden destruction of my reputation

Challenging that status quo

Of females having the power to stop sh*t like this from happening to them

I was branded

And destroyed

Over and over and over

For years

And the worst part of it is

I know exactly why I still have so much shame surrounding my sexual desires and wants

My curiosities 

My turn-ons

There is no ability in me to express what I want

Lest I be branded again and again

How do I own my own body

When it was the very tool by which I was expected to feel shame

At the age of 15?

Such a little act

Killing a part of me that I have yet to revive

And not fear.

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