but i still feel his hands on me.
like they never left.
the flashbacks ripple back in when i zone out.
and now all i can seem to feel is his hands on me,
placing them wherever he desires.
there's a truth no one seems to believe.
they believe the man who took whatever he wanted.
but as they say,
"you asked for it."
"you wanted him to fuck you"
but i didn't.
he forced it on me.
he forced his pleasure while he also forced my pain.
the pain that never seems to leave.
i can still feel his hands on me,
even when i scrubbed harder and harder with so much soap,
wishing the feeling would disappear.
i can still see the blood he caused,
the bruises he placed into my skin.
i still feel his hands,
over and over i wish i never had.
YOU ARE READING
my lover poets
Romancethe thoughts about love. Simplicity form yet addictive to consume your mind over. Love isn't always perfect. (I know I'm not a perfect writer in poetry, but I thought it would be fun to write out some thoughts I have, and things I've learned int...
