The moment I started to think I'm incapable of being loved-
Was it when they took what they wanted, unprovoked?
Came too soon,
Was it when I was "a little bundle
of joy"?
Did I learn then, that I was just
a toy?
Was it then, when my father
walked away?
Was that my price to pay
for being born that day?
How could it be-when I did
nothing wrong?
You left without a word,
left me here all along.
Did I learn it before I could even
speak?

Was it when, the man, old
enough to be my grandfather grabbed my hand?
Did my breath hitch, as he whispered those awful words?
I was barely eleven, it didn't make
any sense,
his breath on my skin, the feeling of his fingertips grasping for mine,
as he'd say with a smile, "Our fingers
are making love,"
Was it the first time?
Or just the first time I remembered?

Was it when the stranger
grabbed my *******?
Was it then I was infested?
Did I learn that hands could only take,
not to give?

Did it start all  too soon?