the touch of a man

tw: sexual assault

the touch of a man
is a heavy hand
resting on my thigh when I was fourteen
too scared to say no
but should I say no?
shouldn’t I like this?

that’s what the media tells me,
directs me, disrespects me
I was a child then and now I am not, but I still
wear these traumas like a heavy coat in
scorching heat

for a while I think that is
all I am, just
a body
but I am learning and growing
punching and kicking
yelling and screaming
silently
the things that were done to me
were done
to me

I am a person and
this is my body and these are my bones
these are my, my, mine
lift your heavy, dirty hands
from my tender flesh, marred by the
scars that try to conceal the
wounds you have inflicted over all these years
ugly reminders of what it is to be
a woman

I am not yours to have, to keep,
to conquer
I am mine and mine alone
despite the sins that have settled into my bones