My story is not of physical violence and love withheld. My story is of violation and love mixed together.
When love is defined that way with things that don't leave marks on a child afraid to cry different definitions of hurt are learned by the body - by my body.
You reach out to touch my ***** I say, "Please don't hurt me" you say, "I would never hurt you" and then you touch me pushing things into me not understanding that my body learned my body knows my body screams in pain at that intimate touch that the world defines as pleasure
"Don't hurt me?" I ask you don't understand my definition of hurt my inability to say I know you would want me to say certainly any sane adult would say
"No. That hurts. Stop. I don't want this."
This poem has been sitting heavy in my notebook, for it feels like so long. I guess some of these poems, have been in my body for a long time.