Before It Happened
by Taylor Wear. CW: sexual assault.
you have to understand
who i was before it happened.
youth surged through my veins
seeped from every pore
filled my sanguine lungs
laced every breath.
young and fun and a little dumb,
in my prime.
age five, high tide
some cloudy beach
each collapsing wave dissolves into
glitter and seafoam
think i could prolly drown here.
whip around, see the dunes
the seagulls on the shoreline
sherbet-colored beach houses
my mother under the umbrella
and i wave.
when you’re five, on the brink of
a vast expanse of ocean,
comprehend fear and endless depth,
then realize you are safe –
it’s a feeling akin to joy.
fling handfuls of wet sand
into the deep.
laugh, leap.
i have to remember
who i was before it happened.
i danced bachata at a party
liked cheetah print, Gwen Stefani
boys with cologne and roaming fingers
snuck raspberry vodka into water bottles
laughed at horror movies
lived for the summer,
made each one better than the last
on the precipice of self-discovery,
newness and bliss
when identities are malleable as clay
mine was molded for me.
happened right before the summer
in truth,
my life began inside my dorm room
frozen on the bed, numb under his weight
in a moment of recognition,
i looked back up toward the ceiling
and tried to see the seagulls on the shoreline
on cue –
the door clicked shut
and i began to adjust
to who i am now,
before it happened.
*
they call Dr. Ford an inspiration,
a warrior
and it’s hard not to agree.
strong backed and stoic,
right hand raised
eyes closed in an expression
that says this is her sacrifice,
her call of duty.
the chamber lights bathing her
in a pool of warmth and radiance,
trying to pretend she’s not before a row
of angry men
keen to burn her at the stake.
but unlike Joan of Arc,
who wanted the fire
something tells me
a warrior gets to choose
when to draw her weapons
and when to burn
Christine.
blonde and bright and brilliant
on the white cliffs of youth and summer
i like to think of her then, of who she was,
before it happened.
*
this is a battle
i have fought for so long
from the confines of a therapy room
to the National Mall
i have balled my hands into fists
made blows
screamed into the void
these are sacrifices i’m willing to make
this is pain i’m going to feel
this is a hill i’m willing to die on
and yet sometimes
i‘d rather have a tree to sleep under
and to dream of who i was
before it happened.
*
there was a time in your life
when trauma didn’t rear its ugly head
when there weren’t any nightmares
when you didn’t clutch your keys
when the world seemed opportune and bright
and when youth seemed a natural transition
into the womanhood you deserved
and the strength you always knew
you had in you.
so when you draw your weapons,
fight for your sisters and your daughters
fight for the world you’ve always wanted
but most of all, fight for you
for who you were
before it happened.
Photo by Iwan Shimko. For more work by Taylor Wear at Boshemia: Hot Dating Tips for the Completely Undatable, I'm Here! I'm Queer! I Promise, On Permanence, and On Fleek || Lipstick Revolution.