AmandaJade

Innocence

I always thought of my skin as my protection,
as a hypothetical wall against all bad.

I was taught my skin would protect me from germs and pathogens,
but you?

You were a disease.

My walls were innocent,
but you took that as vulnerability and weakness.

My body burned from the overwhelming heat of your touch.

My head ached with immense confusion, wondering what I did,
how this was MY fault.

Were my clothes an opening door to a void so much deeper than the hem on my wool shirt?
Was my choker necklace an encouraging factor for you to light a flame that wasn’t ready to be lit?
Was my extra hint of makeup an excuse for you to treat my body as your own property , because of the false hint of maturity?

No.

Why is this my fault?

How could it be?

My body is my own.

Everyone is bare under their own shield of clothing.
Everyone is deserving of respect and to be blocked from such an un-told evil that roams the streets and seeps into developing minds through the touch of a cell phone.

My clothes do not define me.
My makeup does not define me.

I am me, and I am strong.
My skin has turned from clay,
a malleable , bendable substance
Into a wall of steel.

A wall that has healed the deepest of cuts from cold razor blades.
A wall that separates me from becoming one those terrible people that I fear.
A wall that is fighting every day to protect me.

Instead of deep cuts bleeding the blood that has been poisoned by unwanted touches of men and freezing metal blades at night,
I now draw daisies on my skin with permanent marker,
for me to remember its possible for a rebirth and to grow more beautiful and powerful than before.
for me to remember that I can make new moments and changes that last longer than the times in which it felt as an eternity.
my skin is a portrait and its up to me how I color it.
My skin is my own.

I am not ashamed of that.

 

Comments3

  • Candlewitch

    hello,
    I completely agree with DS/KS! and I know exactly what you mean. I was sexually abused by my brother-in-law from the ages of 13 to 16. I told my family, but they wouldn't believe me. so I became my own hero and rescued myself. I was very angry for many years. I wish you the best of everything that this life has to offer. great poem!

    *hugs, Cat

    • lostgirl24

      I'm so sorry, Cat!! And I relate to your family not listening to you; mine rarely do, but I like that you rescued yourself. You're like my role model.

    • Shadiamond Gonzalez

      I know how you feel its hard i was sexually abused from the age 2-9 it was hard. I never told anyone until now. But it helped me realize the work will try to break you down but we are still standing on the ground. Dont let anyone define you. You define yourself. Keep forward

    • lostgirl24

      This is one of my favorite poems, very well written, heartfelt, and overall beautiful. You're strong and I admire that.



    To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.