*TW- sexual assault*
I crave touch
in all the wrong ways
hands on my waist
fingers playing with the hem of my t-shirt
lips on lips and
tangled legs
but whenever anyone
tries to touch me
the memories invade me
and I am back in that moment
feeling the floorboards shift under me
as I begged god to just
make it stop
and now matter how hard I try
to just move on
I still can't stand
the hands on my skin
because all they do is remind me
of all the holes he left
when he dug me up
and stole me
YOU ARE READING
wilting roses
PoetryAnother collection of (bad) poems. *tw: mentions of sexual assault, drug use, drinking, suicidal ideation and self harm* -a collection of poems that document my experiences with my mental health throughout high school. a warning: i had a few undiagn...
