i scrub my sud-soaked body
to rid myself of your touch.
my neck rubbed raw
where your lips once were,
the feeling of fire where
the scratches sit lingers.
it taunts me cruelly,
reminds me that this body
somehow isn't mine.
i resent my arms and the torso
that holds them together.
i hate the feeling of your hands
yanking at the fabrics of my shirt,
because somehow my body
is on display for your 24/7 pleasure.
it taunts me cruelly,
reminds me that this body
somehow isn't mine.
this very vessel is tainted,
stained by the sins of man.
my body wasn't mine
as long as i was with you,
regardless of my status,
even though i told you
that i didn't like you.
i saved myself from
your wicked grasp.
i am free of your sin,
but i still feel it within.
YOU ARE READING
Pleasure or Pain? (Poetry)
PoetryI call this my book of chaos; my sanctuary. When the turmoil inside of me resurfaces, when I've surpassed my tipping point, putting my jumbled thoughts and conflictions into words gives back the control I initially lost.
