Sexual harassment is not about the intent
But the the perception
I’m sure he did not mean to hurt me
I’m sure he did not intend the vomit
That would sprout on my lips like
Wildflowers in the spring
Every night before I went to sleep
How could he intend to leave delicate pools of blood seeping beneath my skin
Blooming plums permanently
Wrapped around my neck
A mangled necklace of desire
Made of rope and his handprints

Maybe I perceived everything all wrong
My skin was not layered
With the places he touched me
But coated in candle wax
Candle wax that trapped the dust and debris of his disrespect inside my body
Funny how it didn’t feel like a miscommunication when his hands were pinning my down by the waist.