Touch

I first recall it at thirteen

I’ve heard of younger girls who had it worse

But any age it too young

When the touch he lays,

Burns your skin 

 

I don’t know how many times since

I’ve heard of girls dealt more vile cards

But why must he play them

When he’s told to stop, 

He might listen for a second

 

My hand couldn’t lose his grip 

My hair was pulled harder and harder

My body was trapped in someone else’s

My neck was beaten with lips 

My stories are endless 

But hey, at least I wasn’t raped

At least it was harmless 

 

It had to be harmless

It was all in public 

It wasn’t given a second thought

 

But in the end, who does this body belong to?

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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