If She Knew

He told her she was pretty
and she believed him,
as if that word were holy,
as if it came from a mouth
that knew truth.

She wore his words like silk.
He slipped past her defenses
with soft eyes, soft words,
his lips close to her ear.

No one warned her
that monsters whisper.

Time revealed
what she couldn't have known,
and it moves through me
like fire through a dry forest,
charring the brittle branches
of every lie he ever told.

Oh, if I could go back.
Not just to warn her,
but to stand beside her,
press into her small hand
the match she would need,
watch her strike it,
watch his whole false world
burn down around her.

But I can't go back.
I can only speak.
I can only drag his name
through my throat.
I can only say

He was a monster.

And I am still learning
how to live with that truth.