I once had an angel
who watched over my shoulder
and told me how to act like a lady.
When the boy with the threatening grin
pulled on my hair with his dirty hands
the angel stopped me from telling my mother.
Said, ‘It’s only because he likes you.’
So I kept quiet
and when the boy grabbed my wrist
hard enough to leave a bruise
I pretended it was instead
a birthmark conveniently formed
in the shape of a heart.
I was walking down the street
when I heard a catcall from a car
stopped at a light.
I wanted to tell him that my existence
was not an open invitation to fuck me
but the angel told me
that I was overreacting,
so I smiled at him
while wishing the ground would
swallow me whole.
It was a Saturday night
and I was in bed
when he came tumbling into the room
smelling strongly of whiskey and cigarettes.
He pulled the covers off
and slid his hands up my thighs.
I told him I was tired but his hands
crept higher.
The angel told me to stay still,
to relish his touch
to make him feel good.
He wants you, let him have you.
So I listened and closed my eyes
and waited for it to end.
Later that night,
I sat on the bathroom floor
and carved into my skin
all the words the angel
has ever told me.
Be soft.
Do not raise your voice.
Cross your legs.
Smile.
Smile.
I once had an angel
who watched over my shoulder
and told me how to act like a lady
so I grabbed a .22
and shot it dead.
I had to kill my angel
before it killed me.
