He Touched Me.
And I broke.
Every bone,
Every vein,
Every organ of mine spilled on his bedroom floor,
And it could never be picked back up.
He touched me.
Because his father touched his sister,
His father touched his mother.
He wanted to touch me.
So he did.
He touched me.
Raking his hand through my kinks,
Holding my body in place.
My mind liked together by handcuffs.
My soul locked in a prison cell on a life sentence.
He touched me.
And when he touched me.
I was no longer me.
I was no longer a human.
I was a doll for his choosing.
I was another tally to mark off.
I was not a rose for him to pick and hold dearly.
I was an object.
My chest huffed as my lungs struggled to breath.
I couldn't breathe.
My heart flooded with darkness,
A black hole that had no desired to be lightened.
But then,
He took that too.
Please be gentle.
Sometimes when I look at you,
I see him.
And I know that you are not capable of breaking me.
But I know,
I know all too well what that feels like.
YOU ARE READING
Woman.
PoetryA book of poems and feelings. A book from a girl, a rose from the concrete. A Woman growing.
