Narcissus
content disclaimer: child sexual assault
She called me a whore
before she called me victim—
never survivor.
I wanted my mother to love me
like she loved the man who raped me,
like she loved her next drink,
her own reflection,
the sound of her own voice.
I wanted her
to step away from the pond.
Less Narcissus,
more nurturer.
Instead,
she stayed at the water’s edge,
kissing her own reflection
while I drowned
