I don’t think I realized,
What it meant to be sexually abused.
Because until I reached third grade,
I barely remembered it had happened.

It hit me when teacher explained the “no-no” places,
The places where we shouldn’t be touched.
Damian’s face flushed with laughter;
Heart racing, Mine drained of color.

I was too young to understand what it meant,
Thought nothing of it, only knew how it felt.
Your fingers delicately grazed my skin,
In those places, never more than touching.

I was too ashamed to speak,
My skin broke out in a cold sweat.
Couldn’t meet their eyes, they’d see the truth.
I was bad and dirty, I didn’t deserve their God.

I closed myself off from you, avoided conversation.
You asked if you had done something wrong,
As if you couldn’t admit that it had happened.
I hated you for the longest time, part of me still does.

I tried to tell her, told her it was an accident,
I was scared to fully tell the truth.
"He touched me there. It scared me."
But mother didn’t comprehend.

I repressed the feelings, sold my sanity,
Pretended everything was fine.
I guess I was a walking time bomb,
Because then depression hit.

Black hair, green eyes, he understood me,
Told me things I didn’t expect anyone to share.
Cried when he told me he had been touched,
Told me he was scared; he was just like me.

I wanted to reach out and hold him,
But the scars on his skin frightened me.
Too afraid to trigger haunted memories,
I separated myself from any touch at all.

It took me one year, to be able to talk to you.
Two years, to let you hug me without shuddering.
The nightmares never stop, I wonder if I dreamed it all,
Or maybe I’ve never woken up.

There are gaps, things I don’t remember,
Only insignificant fragments, most have been erased.
I’ve grown tired of knowing, tired of hiding.
Here I am. Take it or leave it;
I’d be better left.