”Me, too” I whispered after the years of intuitions.
Learned insomnia, nicotine-stained fingers and more fear than I could hold.
Me, too. And I changed my outfit since I’d be out past dark.
Avoid eye contact and hope for the best.
Me, too. And he slithered up the stairs and made me a statistic.
Haunted by numbing deja vu’s, me too.
Me, too and I swallowed my voice like glass and turned silent. Only learning to speak to my too-young children about the patterns of grooming in hopes of lowering their chance of becoming a 1 in 6 or a 1 in 33.
Me, too as the hand cuffs and “guilty’s”and restraining order came.
Me, too as I traded in my number the day he was given one of his own on the back of a state-owned jumpsuit.
Me, too. As “justice” was served and didn’t give me a damn bit of peace considering he was just one out of a million.