Seventeen Year Old Cult Love

Seventeen year old love is like a cult,
it is you slipping your hand under my shirt,
whispering that you’re just undoing my bra
as you grope my ribcage, plucking each rib out,
for its easier than just asking for my heart,
you wrap my breast tissue around and around your fingers 
like avarice spinning straw into gold,
you tie each of my ribs together with it
and use as a ladder to climb up to my heart,
payback for the one less rib you have, 
that for some reason it inclines you to believe 
that sacrifice equals debt,
that your ancestors’ kindness is just another way to own me,
your fingers run like confused rain up my aorta,
and watch as I shake without consent.
I loved you
and then you played cat’s cradle with my heartstrings; 
seventeen year old love is a cult
and you’re a master manipulator, 
a lunatic who watched a youtube tutorial on  how to become a sage,
and taught me that nice girl means easy,
nice girl does this
nice girl does that
I’m a real nice girl,
and the people say there’s nothing like being seventeen.

-anna sluder

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