Kalopsia

8 years old

⚠️ MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️

This is the most fucked up poem that I have written till now and just know, if you wanna walk out, do it right now.

Also please do know that writing this had been like stripping myself of everything. The reality of this poem has been a part of me like a secret for years.

It had been a fear of mine that I would be judged for who I was. Or how my mind worked. Maybe putting this out, knowing even one person read this, knows the conflicts inside me and somehow relates to it, will be enough of a relief.

If you wanna still continue, read the first two lines, then think again.

Thank you
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I was 8 years old or maybe even less
When I first thought about the sexual prowess certain women held
The seductive dip in their waist
Before the full curve of their hips
And the soft roundness of their breasts.

I talk of certain women, yes,
For I had never linked them to my mother
Or the other ladies around me
Never linked them to me
Never thought of myself in their places.

They didn't belong to my world
Yet I was very well a part of theirs
I treated them like myths and stories
Embedded in the withered pages of old forgotten books
Yet I knew those women existed

And for days, that turned to years
I found the little me
Seeking pleasure from imagining those goddesses
Tied, bound, dragged, hung to the ceilings and disposed.

I found satisfaction in seeing them
So beautiful yet helpless, dominated to a ruthless level
But pleasure was pleasure
And I knew those mighty women were guilty
Finding pleasure in their disgrace
For I felt it too as if I
Was the one on the receiving end

It is funny how I didn't even know about sex
The images of ropes and leather
Digging in soft flesh
And their cries muffled by a cloth
Was alone arousing to me
I never went farther than that
Because I wasn't aware I could

And even though I didn't know
About the unknown between my legs
The little me still touched herself
With no conscious thought or motive
I did it because I felt like it
I had never connected my obscene thoughts
With my ignorant actions
It was simple like picking one's nose
Or scratching an itch

It turned into a habit, inevitably so
Something my body had gotten used to
I did it even when I was fast asleep
Something my mother knew about
And scolded me for, a dirty habit
But I thought of it like a child would think
Of her mother scolding her for having
More chocolates than allowed
The child still steals the delicacies
Something trivial not obscene.

And strangely I still don't know
How these obscenities had gotten ahold of me
Had I mistakenly seen something
That a child shouldn't have
Or was I just born with it