When we were jealous of the girls whose hair was pulled
by a freckle faced boy on the blade grassed playground--
Because we knew what it meant when a boy picked on you.
Because when I woke up to him spit shining me
With a calloused hand that was rough against my sandpaper core
Even though I had been asleep in his oil stained sheets when he started
I told myself that it was my fault he was so confused by the word rape.
Because when a heavy lidded boy drives over bodies and shoots women
All because he wants to climb his way to a location he feels entitled to reach
The say it is agenda pushing when we finally say
Brittany McIntyre, a recent graduate from Marshall University's MA program, lives and writes in West Virginia. Her work has been published in The Dying Goose.