Poetry

January 22, 2018 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION

Louis Blythe photo

 

By

Mirissa D. Price

 

 

 

Another Woman Like Me

 

 

I can’t forget it now. A night of less-than-romance – he took

a woman out to dinner; he brought her to his

home; he made all the moves of a one-night-stand, and followed up

the next day.

 

So was this just his idea of a first date? The woman feeling

violated and used. Tears staining

her unlatched bra.

 

Awkward admission number one:

I, too, have been there. Too young to walk away, too easily

anonymous

 

prey. In a ‘what-is-this-called’ fumble.

I don’t know what to think. Even though hashtag

metoo. Even though

I went through Stage 1. A stimulating shiver

up my thigh. At the edge of my seat –

in distress – I read on, pulled to

the literary porn. As if the characters aren’t real.

It’s too good to be real.

 

Stage 2. But I get it. That nasty taste in my mouth, the flavor

of a lover after

meaningless exchange. Reality hits: she is crying,

she’s unwinding, she’s

ravenous for only one reason. I know the look of hunger.

 

And I can’t accept it. Stage 3. Having grown up with lessons of saying

no to drugs, no to rides with strangers – before Uber – no to

candy with open wrappers. No one told me to say no to a man who I like

but don’t want to touch but

he’s already touching my discomfort. No one told me this was

wrong. For a minute I wonder, ‘was this normal

sex or assault?’

 

Except Stage 4. My thoughts don’t matter. And neither do his. Not when

the tears draw black lines down her freckles. Only she matters.

And everybody questions if

how she feels matters. How she feels matters. Because – Stage 5 –

it’s not about him. But to tell him he’s wrong. But to

help other women. But

 

she took it to another level, publicly putting him

to shame. I remember my rapist. I remember his scrappy

childlike face. I found him

online, and can see – I hope – he has changed.

I wouldn’t wish him any

harm. He doesn’t matter.

 

But oh, Stage 6;

to know I’m not alone. For a moment

too long, I am happy

to see another woman used. Another woman weak. I am voyeur to

another woman like me.

 

 

 

 

 

Mirissa D. Price

Mirissa D. Price is a 2019 DMD Candidate at Harvard School of Dental Medicine and future pediatric dentist. As a child, doctors told Mirissa that she would live in a nursing home, confined to a wheelchair, crippled by pain. Instead, Mirissa uses her medical experiences to inspire others, living each day with a passion to spread pain-free smiles through her dental work, writing, improv comedy performances, and nonprofit work with children. Her writing fills the pages of Yellow Chair Review, Tuck Magazine, The Huffington Post, Five2One Magazine, and more. You can stay up to date with Mirissa’s writing at mirissaprice.wordpress.com and follow @Mirissa_D_Price on Twitter or Facebook. You can even take home a few inspirations of your own, at Mirissa’s Etsy shop, A Smile Blooms.

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