I was 14 and at a Methodist summer camp.
They told us we could spend the last night outside.
Clear sky, under the stars  I was happy.
Then he put his hands on my head.
And his hands down my pants.
It felt wrong, I was no longer happy.
I wanted to escape, but I couldn’t move.
The next day I went home.
I was called names.
I lost my friends and “silly” rumors spread.
I put myself in that situation. It was my fault.
It took me 10 years to realize,
It was wrong,
I couldn’t get out,
It wasn’t my fault.

I'll paint my skin black
In every spot, in every crack
When a happy moment
Was tainted by a touch that lingered far too long.
All those days under a burning sun,
Running, hiding, from eyes that incessantly follow
Looking over my shoulder, with feet that fumble,
Praying not to fall,
Quickly dashing down a hallway,
Hoping four walls of a home will keep me secure.
As my breathless body is reduced
To a mere statue made of stone,
You run your gnarly fingers over my decaying flesh and bones.
“Smile a little more”, “Here,see what I've got”-
I cower in fear, powerless,
And they wonder why I don't speak out soon.
So instead, I'll pen this down
To stop myself from counting,
Every memory seared into my brain,
Every time I've felt less human,
Every time I've felt disgraced.
Maybe tomorrow, I won't wake up screaming.

me too.

six or seven years old,
on my Little Mermaid bed,
playing doctor or predator,
with my innocence.

me too.

eight or nine years old,
in children's church groups,
asking me why i didn't shave
or wear a bra.

me too.

eleven years old, it's the
holiday season, you're my
favorite uncle, so why do you
stroke my breast and cradle my
***?

me too.

in high school, everyone's doing
it, it's not a big deal.
you're such a *****, why can't
you just send me a ****?

me too.

in college, you convinced me
i'm mature enough, i'm old enough,
so why did i feel so terrified to say
no? why did i cover my eyes and bite
my tongue?

An ancient sage suddenly appeared at my feet.
She placed her hand upon my heart and whispered,
"This is your destiny."

A woman in black with hair as gold as the sun took my hand.
She said, "Close your eyes. Open your mind. Feel the power of this land."
She said, "Daughter of my daughter's daughter; blood of mine.
We've been waiting for all your life. It's finally time
to rise. It's time to fight."

A band of ancient shamans stopped me in my tracks.
They placed their magic on me and said, "You can never go back." They said, "Sister, on her hero's journey, take our hands.
We've been waiting for all our lives. Here we stand
to rise."

We can't wait any longer.
We can't hide the fire that's been burning ever stronger.
We can't deny. It's time
to rise. It's time to fight.

It's time to rise. It's time to fight.

You smell like cigarettes... and now I do too.
I don't mind you smoking,
But how funny is it that you smell
like one of the things I hate the most?
That scent always holds on for dear life
onto my hair, when I come home.

I wonder if that is the reason why
I feel the need to scrub myself clean
as soon as I set a foot back into familiar territory.
Or is it the smell of you I want to forget,
so that I cannot recall that you even touched me?
That anyone has ever touched me?
Because the only way to erase the way he held onto me
seems to be to never let you hold me either.

I had grown accustomed to the feeling
of the temple that is my body
crumbling under his too strong, too rough, too fast hands.
To the void in my belly from which he took the butterflies
and replaced them with a distrust that won't go away.
I had become used to picking up the pieces,
to washing them of him one by one
and then putting them back together
with Duck Tape and Superglue
into a puzzle that no one will ever solve,

just like when you're little and figure out
that if you just press hard enough,
any piece will fit together,
even if the whole picture feels wrong
as if that action alone would rewind the world
to a time when he hadn't happened to me yet.
Now that my body has been whole for such a long time,
I cannot bare the thought of being deciphered and pulled apart,
even if it is to build the picture right again
and let you in.

I know I could come to enjoy the smell of cirarettes,
if only because it is yours.
But it was also his
and I prefer telling myself that I just don't like
the way it clings to me
because it is easier than facing the fact
that because of him, I hate the feeling of smelling like you.

I do not want to be touched like a steering wheel is touched;
Or a guitar-
Like I am a machine, an instrument made of parts,
Like if you pluck my strings, I’ll sing for you
Like I was only created to get you from point a, to point b,
Like I was made entirely to respond to your urgings. –

I do not want to be loved like a dog is loved,
Or a car.
Like I am the comforting warmth at the foot of your bed, or the meticulously painted frame you can’t wait to show your friends,
Because you still hope you can earn their respect. –
My love, I want you to touch me because it is through my skin that you can cool the fear that burns me,
I want you to want my body because it is the artistic expression of the person God made me!

Do you know that God made me? –

My love, I want you to love me because I AM the bones inside your body,
Because I am the ribs that curve around the softest part of your insides, protecting.

I want you to love the way it hurts to love me,
Because nothing worthy is painless,
and I am nothing if not worthy-

Do you know that I am worthy?

Shouts and hollers in the streets
wished I was between the sheets,
uninvited words through lips
I surly did not want to kiss,
a gentle touch a bit too low
but gentle a face is proudly bestow,
those once loved in passing times
also claimed these parts of mine
to grab and shake as one may please
‘cause I had no authority,
power figures misused reign
told me I have none to gain,
“I gave you this, I gave you that,
I’ll tell you how to pay me back”

It’s all displayed, my big debut
with all these women I say, “me, too.”

Me Too,
My body,
My soul,
My voice,
Which you never see, feel and hear,
All never provoke you to smash me,
Again and again,
Yes Me too,
Faced the same as many like me faced from the birth till death!

By; Nida Mahmoed