Trigger Warning: This article, or pages it links to, may contain information about sexual molestation and child abuse, which may be triggering to survivors.
I remember when
Those little brown lumps of play dough
On my chest
Became breasts.
I remember my mind and body
Being in disconnect because I wasn’t really awake yet,
Yet, I felt this weight on my chest
As he slithered his hand into my nightgown,
Ripping through my innocence
Dragging my body into womanhood
As his hands molded my little
Brown lumps of play dough
Into breasts.
He grasped my breasts
Bouncing them in his rough hands
As if they belonged to him.
As if I belonged to him.
He pulled my breasts out of my nightgown
Leaving my nipples exposed
Had his hands creeping through a “no man’s land”
But body still be in man’s hands.
With my eyes still closed
Had him thinking I was sleeping
But mind be too aware to be asleep
And body be too numb to get up
Body be too stuck
To get out of this shit-uation.
Body be prey to his predator.
Mind be praying for protection.
Hands by slithering into body’s Garden of Eden
Mind forgets reason, eyes open, I see him.
I see my Grandpa.
I recognized his eyes, his beard, his nose, his face.
But I didn’t recognize this man.
I had seen who he really was
For the first time in my ten years of life.
Related: An Open Letter to Society
Mind and body be prey to Grandpa.
Grandpa’s hand be a serpent that slithers.
Grandpa’s touch be a venom that kills.
Mind and Body be in a disconnect.
Body be woman, so body be saved for later
Mind be child, so child be slayed
As innocence is ripped away.
Nine years later,
Woman be blooming and
Child be decayed.