i try to remember
who's hand first touched my innocent skin
not my doctor or my mothers hand
the touch that on one end innocent and the other intimate
i try to remember who was first

somedays i can't stand the weight of clothes on my body
feels like soft hands
with ill intentions
with a motive
i can't stand covering up the invisible bruising

if anyone would listen
id yell
can you see them?
can you see the hands?
they rest upon me when im alone

the hands doubled and tripled
as my innocence swept away
i still don't now who's hands were first
who's hands have bruised me in places
blind to everyone but me