Jayde Ficks
When was the first time you were called a whore?
Was it at age ten?
When with a cool breeze, you felt a tightness in your tee?
Those two blinding daggers, they proclaimed their arrival
So, when that boy cornered you in the hall and asked, smirking,
Is it cold in here? Or is it just you?
You wailed for forgiveness?
Or at age eleven?
When your childhood friend grabbed that turtle-neck sweater, the one with the cartoon dogs
And seized that wretched cloth
So, as you fled behind the playground’s cool steel beams,
I did it, guys! You owe me 5 bucks!
Your dared not envision your father’s serrated belt?
What about age twelve?
When you dared to try on a shoulderless top?
Where those married skinheads noticed your Bs from the bar
So, when they asked if you enjoyed the blooming glaze of summer
She’s gotta have some tissues padded in there, I’m tellin’ ya!
You cried out for a jacket? A blanket? A gun?
I bet it was at age thirteen, right?
When you arched your back over your teacher’s desk; a question
And that acne-riddled dickhead branded his name in your ass’s skin
So, with the succession of his public, rapid thrust
Oh, come on, I just couldn’t resist
You stayed perched there, a plastic product of bellowing voyeurs?
Oh, then it must have been at age fourteen, huh?
When that frenzied sociopath tried hypnotism on you, alone?
Where the black-and-white reeled and you played along for fun
So, when he expected compliance, that forceful demand
Didn’t you hear me? I said, ‘Take it off.’
You were granted escape through the grace of a seizure?
If not then, what about age fifteen?
Where you would whimper on display as you hurriedly traversed the high school runway
As upperclassmen battered your ass?
So, as they tore your rigid flesh with every pinch, slap, and grope
Relax, it’s slap-ass Friday! Consider it a compliment!
You branded your thighs with the kiss of a razor?
No, it was probably age sixteen, I bet
When your towel-wrapped body tainted the mind
Of your oh-so-Godly uncle, the one with the lingering gaze
So, as he uttered that verse through his rotted, wicked teeth
The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak
You begged Him with dagger-laced tears to forgive thine sins committed?
Yet here you stand, age twenty-two
Once morose and abrased, you revel in their praise
It’s a good thing, you think, they say you’re a hottie
So, as you swipe right, and right, and you give into their desires
You’d look even better with my hands around your throat
You make sure to thank them when they call you a whore