Death by Motive "Discussion"

Stumbling through the rape
Over and again
I'm stunned by your lack of humanity
Your lack of feeling
My lack of numbness
Your embracing it
I don't understand how you could do that
To a person that looked like me, that spoke like me, that froze like me
How could you hurt her?
Who hurt you?
Why do I care?
Why do I want to apologize to you?
I'm sorry! I'm sorry?
I didn't mean to make you hurt me. I deserved it.
I should never have made you upset, how dare I infuriate you.
I don't want you to hurt, please let me fix it.
But where does my pain heal you?
Why did my pain bring you joy?
Your rawness ailed me, destroyed me, leaves me wanting out and you laughed? You laughed at me? Why did you laugh? What was funny, was my fear tasteful to you? Did it feel good? Did you enjoy my tear, the tearing? How did it taste? I held on to your sheets for dear life because I could feel my soul clawing the exit in my chest. I could feel death. The deafening grunting and slapping in my ears that cannot be erased by the most massive inkblot. The strongest bleach couldn't erase the smell of cum off my chest and when I hate myself I see the faint mark you left on my throat as a reminder of who I belong to.
Who tagged me like cattle.
Who owns me.
Who owns the most delicate part of myself.
Who didn't bat an eye at my denials of participation, and bargains or objections. I see you, an outline of who I thought you were filled with the monster of who you are, shrouded by my apologies to you.
I can't help it. I hate you but not even a fraction as much as I hate myself.

This poem is about: 
Me

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