“If you scream for help, other boys in the hostel will just come & take turns. Just stay still & let me do what I want to do”
The thing about screaming is that it pierces your soul whether loud or silent,
It’ll defy you even as you question your being,
Between the semen and the blood it forcefully took.
You will wash yourself endlessly,
Unable to cart the pain and dirt away,
Then you will cry yourself into a blank stare,
Feeling like your world was now a horrid sound.
Screaming will feel like the next thing after shock,
An imaginary safe place
One touch away from sanity
It’ll feel like cure to the lump in your throat,
That creeps up your mouth when you run into him in class.
Your skin will crawl irritably and you will scream inside your head.
Then, when the moon shows up
You will howl your pain at it,
Morphing into a beast of anguish.
You will look at it again,
And continue the journey through the dirt
that go away no matter how many times you bathe.