In a Catholic school, I was nothing
but an untrained brain, a pair of legs
in a short skirt, and calves in knee-high black socks
pulling my skirt down, tugging at the wool
to protect myself. I never thought
myself to be apart of that group,
never gotten ***** or abused, but then,
I thought longer…harder about my position,
and your greedy hand still finds my legs
under the wool, despite my efforts, lingering
there for half a second too long. I still feel it
when I put myself back in that desk.
It wasn’t friendly. It wasn’t innocent.
You knew what you were doing.
The excuses I made to justify
your behavior. I couldn’t fathom
how you, a man, much older than me,
could touch me without my permission—
How easily you could do that to me.
Invade my space while I sat there,
unsure of what to say or do. And now,
years later, I quietly utter beneath
my breath, “Me too.”