Polaroid Camera

I used to have my very own polaroid camera

It was pale yellow,

My favorite colour at the time

I loved it.

When I first got it,

It came everywhere with me

School, bike rides, parties

Everywhere

I spent so much of my money

On the little film boxes

At least 200

And for 2 years straight,

That’s all I asked for on my birthdays.

I loved the reveal of the photo’s I’d taken

The anticipation would kill me.

And overtime I finally got to see them,

All the good times came flooding back.

I can’t look at any polaroid camera’s anymore. 

Not since him.

When my mom let her friend stay with us for a year in our spare room

Because she needed help with the rent,

Her 2 sons came with her.

Brodie and Gannon.

Brodie was 15,

I was 12.

We were friends.

It started with just small comments.

“How much would I need to pay you to let me fuck you?”

“I could make you scream”

“I know you’re thinking about me.”

“Come on, just once?”

Then the touching started.

Brushing against my butt in stores

‘Accidentally’ touching my boob

I’ll never forget the time he touched my crotch

We were sitting in my room, at my blue desk

He wanted to do the bean boozled challenge

He recorded it.

While I was popping one of the jelly beans in my mouth, he acted like he dropped one

And he rubbed me through my pants.

I froze and tried to laugh it off.

He pretended it was an accident.

They were always ‘Accidents’

All of them are stuck in my mind

Like little pictures.

Like the ones I would take on my polaroid

When I told my mom what had been happening, she said she would kick them out that day.

I thought I’d be okay.

I got home from school,

They were all still there.

He was in my room.

He was holding my polaroid camera.

He took it to the stairs, and dragged me with him.

He kicked it down, and in slow motion I watched it smash to pieces.

Every time I see a polaroid camera now

All I think about is him.

This poem is about: 
Me

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