Some days I long to be held,
and others the thought of someone even shaking my hand makes me cringe
I still can feel hands on my throat
and the touch of an unwanted, wandering hand.

Years have gone by,
Yet the ghostly haunting of your lips on mine will not fade.
But hell, I "wanted it anyway"
I wonder how in the hell you looked into my sobbing eyes,
and decided that turned you on.

But it was my fault for wearing shorts instead of pants,
despite the 93 degree mid-July heat.

After you were done
You held me and asked for me to call you back.
You left me crying by the road side,
With my hair in knots and dirt on my new white shirt
Hours passed as I tried to walk yet couldn't because my whole body felt numb,

My best friend laughed, "nice hickies on your neck"
I cringed inside and had to lie,
hoping no one would ever know those hickies where the bruises you left when I tried to scream.

I feel a chill run through my body
Knowing that it's you.
My heart skips, flutters, turns
Because we both know what to do.

Our eyes settle locked tight
Gazing straight ahead
Your warming hands melt my skin
And send me down to bed.

All stretched out, you see it now
Before your very eyes
Pure, untouched but beaten down
But to only you, a surprise.

What was untouched by human hands
Was touched by sharpened blades
Cannot be healed in this short time
For that's not how they're made.

But now look past the broken surface
That mended back to one
And see what lies within the depths
That hasn't been undone.

Every cell, every little cell is replaced every 7 years
How fantastic will that be?
I will finally have a body that will never have been touched by you.

All I need is to be touched,
To feel some skin on skin
Because psychologists say that humans need
At least ten significant touches a day
To be healthy.

Or do I need to be touched
Because it’s been a week
And the Santa Ana winds are picking up,
Whispering in my ear
That I am alone?
And utterly so.

Do I have to be touched
Because I can’t remember
The last time my daddy told me that I was pretty?
I don’t know if he ever told me that I was pretty.
And if you touched me you might replace
All those birthdays he missed,
The trophies and awards
And my college graduation
Where all I wanted was for him to appear,
Somehow like a ghost,
And tell me that my hair looked lovely when I wore it up.

I have to be touched
Because if not,
I will sink like an anchor into the ocean
The way my insides felt the last time
I stood there in the driveway,
Clinging to his pants just before he drove away,
As if it were the last time I would touch someone
Ever.

Your kisses,
               touched me.
                            Your touches,
                                              released me.
*Release me