So. I was at a party.
Y'know, it seems like it always
starts that way.
"I was at a party."
I was at a party.
Whether I had been drinking or not
Whether I was too "provacative" or not
I shouldn't have to tell you that
It doen't matter what I was
It wasn't my fault. And there should be no qualifiers for this.
I was talking to a monster.
No. Let's be real.
I was talking to a man.
I was talking to him because he too had a sketchbook under his arm and we talked about shading and wanting to tour Paris
Later on when he asked if I wanted to get out of there
I said no thanks
I was young
So very young
He argued and pleaded
And got so very angry.
He walked away from me.
Later on he returned with an apology and a charming smile
He looked so charming
And so we talked.
We talked about the Louvre
and the beauty of the Venus de Milo
And we ended up outside, just talking.
And when he touched my thigh I said no.
When he touched me I said no.
And Mr. Charming Smile is a thief.
He took what wasn't his to take.
And I was so glad that before I came to college my mom had put me on the pill.
And so next year when I went to Paris it seemed tainted
And I drew the Venus de MIlo and I was sad.
And then I was mad.
And then I got strong.
And now that damn picture hangs on my wall like a trophy.
A sad and broken trophy
for a girl who is no longer sad and broken.