When My Rapist Showed Up In "People You May Know"

- When my rapist showed up under the people you may know tab on Facebook. It felt like the closest to investigating a crime scene that I've been. That is if I don't count the clock work murder that I make of my own memory every time that I drive down Colfax Avenue. Still I sit in my living room and I sift for clues. Click. He is smiling and I see myself caught in his teeth. He's dancing in some club in a city that I've never been to. Click. He is eating sushi over a few beers with friends and I

am under his fingernails. Click. I know that alley. Click. I killed the memory of that T-shirt. Click. This is an old photograph. A baby picture. There's also an older man, presumably his father. They're both round and bright and still smiling. Click. He is shirtless and I see my reflection in the weight room mirror. #Beast mode selfie. I call him the wolf, when I write about him. The wolf so as to make him as storybook as possible. The wolf when I write about him, Which is to say when my memory

escapes the murder, when the internet suggests it. Facebook informs me that we have three mutual friends. Which is to say that he is people you may know and that I am people you may know and there are people that know and people that don't know. People that don't know, I want to know but I'm afraid to let know. And probably people that know him, that know of me. That know the word no. No! No! No is a flock of sleeping sheep sitting in my mouth and now... Now I know the wolfs middle name and wha

t he listens to on spotify and the all to familiar company that he keeps, and he can no longer be a wolf. But the nameless grave that I dig for myself on bad days. We have three mutual friends on Facebook and now it feels as if they are holding the shovel. 64 people liked the shirtless gym pic. Four people have told me that they'd rather I said nothing. Two police officers told me that I must give his act a name or it didn't happen. That obviously I could have fought back. Which is to say no one

comes running for young boys who cry rape. When I told my brother he also asked me why I didn't fight back. Adam, I am right now, I promise everyday I write a poem titled tomorrow. It is a hand written list of the people that I know that love me and I make sure to put my own name at the top. (sad music playing)