By: De’Ashia Wallace

I’ve never done this before.

He told me it was okay to be nervous.
Most people would be.

I’m finally going to do it
after months of telling myself
that this wouldn’t change me.

He said I would feel amazing,
like Kobe Bryant at the Olympics,
and that the more frequently I did it,
the more used to it I would become.

I was nude.

He gave me a gown to put on,
one that would give him
just enough access to my body.

I closed my eyes
after looking into his
and seeing in his pupils
the many times he had done this before.

This wasn’t special.

Just another way
to raise his success rate.

You know,
raise the score.

My eyelids shut.

No matter what,
I could still feel his entrance.

I guess the first cut
is the deepest.

I instantly felt
my eyes fly open.

I was no longer with him.

Now I was
in a really dark place.

I heard my name called
and my bones quivered.

I shot to the ground
like asteroids from outer space
and said,

“Yes, God.”

Without realizing it,
I replied
in the most humble tone.

He said,

“I have crawled with you
since forever,
and now you walk right past me.

My sanctuary
could not identify you
in a lineup,
let alone on a billboard.

Funny,
because you need me now.

This man you trusted
just wanted you
to lay down
so he could go inside you.

But me?

I’ve watched you grow.

Spent more time
with my eyes on you
than anything else.

I’m starting to feel
like I’m stalking you.

You never gave me
an ounce of your time,
so I took it.

Made your heart beat faster
than cheetahs on the prowl.

I had to nearly
take away your breath
so you could know
I existed.

You never called my name
at an award ceremony.

Only when you’re hurt.

Why should I forgive you?

What less of a man
would it make me?

Sweetheart,
I’m not a man.

You know what?

Go.

I’m only sparing your life
because I’ll make it
the best mission of all time.”

My eyes opened again.

I felt so much pain
in my body,
I wondered
if he had carved
hieroglyphics
on my insides.

He was gone.

I was alone
in a cold,
empty room.

After finding my body
bloody,
sore,
and scared,

I could barely move.

All I could think about
was how it was nothing
like your first time.

A week went by.

I went back to see him again.

He told me
how good I was
and how much
he enjoyed it.

Finally,
he said
I was a fighter
and he liked that.

But I still could not
look him in his eyes.

So I looked
at his lab coat

and said,

“Thank you,
Doctor Singh.”

###

De’Ashia Wallace, also known as AJ P.R., is a poet, spoken-word performer, teaching artist, and author of The Hug I Wish I Gave You. Her work explores Black family life, grief, survival, faith, identity, and the transformation of lived experience into art.