I hate that you're the only thing I see when I close my eyes.
I hate that.
I hate the way your old hands touched my young skin,
I hate the way you made my young hands touch you.
I was a naive trusting little lamb,
You, you were a big deceiving lion,
And I was your prey.
I wanted to learn and you were willing to teach,
But there was a miscommunication of what was meant to be taught.
You wanted to teach me how to touch you,
And I wanted to learn how to spell.
I never did learn how to spell the only word I needed.
Help.
I didn't learn anything to be honest,
Only the fear of love,
Of touch,
Of men; including my own father, uncle, and grandfather who has a hard time writing his own name.
I feared walking into school and it only got worse as time went on.
But Mr. Kiss,
If that's even your real name,
I want to thank you.
You did teach me something that I'll always hold with me,
You taught me what it's like out in the "real" world.
You taught me the most valuable thing I know;
Not everyone is who they claim to be.
You can hide, repress, ignore all the memories you want;
But hiding, repressing, ignoring doesn't undo the damage already done.
Me, growing and loving and treating people the way I wasn't treated is what will help to heal the booboos you left behind.
So, again, Mr. Kiss, thank you for doing your "job" and teaching me what I needed to know.
Sincerely;
Not a victim,
But a girl with feelings.