I was raised on a pedestal twelve hours straight
so attorneys could ask what I wore, what I drank
I had woken in (hush—off) white sheets
and seen no blood and sung
halleluja
an immaculate rape
I would be raised and light
painted around my head
would banish the shadows
from which I now have reason to cringe
I sought this veneration
of shamed skin & shivering bones
of throwing up behind a shrub
when a profile in the New Year’s crowd
matches his soul patch
I sought this glory
by walking at night, by leaving my drinks
uncovered, by having
this body
but all I had to do was have a friend
who is still a man
and will never be convicted or tried
of the crime that raised me so high
that bloggers believe me
and commenters say I deserved this
reverence
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