That is who you are in my thoughts, but you are anything but. You came to my house as a man of god. You told my parents stories of the people you saved. You impressed me and made me feel big. You raped me in my room that night. I thought I was dreaming. I didn't stop it. I woke up and thought it was over. I thought it had been a nightmare. I went to the bathroom. I had no pants on.
I was 11. You were in your thirties. You should have know better.
I was strong. I was loud and talkative and smart. I made straight A-s (no exception). I loved my parents, I fought with my siblings. I wanted to be a singer. When you raped me I died. I can't talk to people. I can't have a real relationship with anyone. I will never have a boyfriend because people can't touch me. I got drunk all the time. I shredded the insides of my legs until I couldn't walk. I wanted to know why you wanted to hurt me so badly. I still don't know.
If I ever saw you again I would tell you what you've done to me. I would see if it made even the slightest impression. And then I would kill you. Like you killed me. I don't know your name.
I thought you were an angel. Now I don't know what an angel is.
