To The Boy Who Raped me At the Christmas Dance

You have become immortal.

An immortal tuba player with wandering fingers who forced himself on me at the side of the road.

Yes.
You.

The chemical engineer who messaged me and said I hurt him more than any other woman has ever hurt him.

I didn't know it was rape then.

I thought rape looked like something else.

And all I cared about in the moment was not ripping my pantyhose.

So now I don't wear pantyhose.

And I break wandering fingers with my bare hands.

I wrote you on paper.
I wrote you in black ink.
I printed you out and put the words of your assault in the mouths of my friends.
And we are actors
And you are immortalized
As the rapist
As the boy
As the tuba player who rapes.
And your engineering degree and your sad little boy eyes and your marriage and your child and your bank account cannot save you.