Gnawing violation

It was only when
your teeth gnawed against my skin
that I realized
I didn’t want to do it anymore. My silence was
not acceptance, but
acquiesce, gentle and
suggestive; and even
though I whimpered to your touch exactly like you ordered me to, I never
liked your hands
going down from my navel into my loins trying to
make them their own. My
silence was not pleasure but fear, fear of what
even any inadvertent resistance may do to my body…because my body
was no longer mine to
begin with. I lost it to you, the very day you
crawled into my bed with
my birthday present in hand, and I ran to you the
six year old that I was…
and instead of your arms embracing me in affection,
they probed my skin and my curves and roamed on the
hillsides…and I knew not
of ways that violation was
affection but you insisted it
was, only until I could
keep it a sweet secret and
let open my body
to the fire in your loins. My
flesh is still inflamed from
the day you hit me with
your cane because I
pushed you away. But I
want you to know this- my
womanhood is not for you
to relish, or devour or to dig
your malicious claws in. I
shall not drape my form over
you and wait for you to make
meaning of me. Your sixty-three year long malicious existence does not
make meaning of me.

I do.


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