Childhood.  
Daddy.
How can such a name, so innocent,
Said so sweetly, describe the filth you are? 
I could never count on you for a thing. 
But those days, those nights.
Every chance you got, whenever mom wasn't home,
I could ALWAYS count on you calling me while you were showering. 
To get you a towel, as you stood there naked;
To talk to you, as you showered. 
Those days when you would come in my room at night.
When you would walk in while I was showering.
If I protested?
I could count on you slamming me against a wall.
I could count on feeling your fist against any open part of my body.
I could count on you throwing vacuums, glass vases, textbooks at my head.
Do you remember the day you had  the massager out?
You started by massaging my shoulders, then my back, then lower.
I squirmed, uncomfortable, but your words echoed in my mind then, as they do now. 
"Sweetie, relax.  This isn't hurting you."
No. 
IT didn't hurt me. 
YOU did. 
You stole my childhood. 
I didn't know how wrong it all was.
I thought this was how all families interacted. 
Naive, I was.

Jack.
Did someone conjuror you from the deepest and darkest of swamps within hell?
You were 23. 
I was 13.
You were my karate instructor.  
I was learning how to protect myself in case someone tried to attack me. 
Who knew that the person I needed to protect myself from, was you?
That night, at Dustin's, the first time I smoked.
High as a cloud, but I remember every detail of that night.
You pulled me toward you, said I should relax.
I remember the way your callused hands slid across my thighs, slipping gracefully because of lotion.
To this day, the smell of coco butter makes me sick.
The day you invited me to your house, for a "private lesson".
All alone. 
I remember you told me to take off my sweatshirt, even though I only had a thin tank top under. 
You said I would be able to "preform better."
When you got out that same lotion, said you would "massage away my stress".
The night at your house warming party, when you said you wanted to show me the library.
Instead you brought me to a dark room.
I still can feel your rough hand gripping mine in the dark.
Black as death in there..
I still can hear yours and Dustin's laughter as you pushed me down against the sticky leather of that couch.
I thought all you wanted was friendship.
Naive, I was.

You both stole my innocence and childhood.
At 13, I should've had puppies chasing me in my dreams, not monsters disguised as men.
I should've been worried about hiding my diary from my friends, not bruises.
I should never have learned to tell such complicated lies at such an early age.
To this day, I am wary of every man I meet,
Afraid that he will be another boogie man who will chase me in my dreams.
I wish you could look into my eyes and see what pain you caused me. 
I wish you could look even farther and see the determination and strength which your actions forced me to bring to existence.
The hardest task of all is carrying the baggage.  
The weight of it in indescribable.
But nevertheless, I will pick it up and take a step away from my past.

Oh.
Just one last thing:
I forgive you.