Raw

You rubbed me raw
with your expectations -
a little girl
to bear the burdens
of your desire.
You taught survival,
not how to live.

You rubbed me raw
with your anticipations -
a shiny new model
made in your image,
to replace a bird
that you broke.

You rubbed me raw
with your control -
independent enough
to entertain,
but never enough
to flee.

You rubbed me raw
with childhood orgasms
and lingering looks,
lustful envy
and ill-placed jests,
cocktails and shame.

I'm still raw,
twenty years later -
a broken woman,
bolstered by achievements
and knowledge
and lies.

I'm still raw,
desperately seeking relief -
picking at scabs
and long-locked boxes,
clawing for release
from your bondage.