Don't Touch Me.

I told you no.


No, I don't want to do that.
Please, I can't do this.
I can't get pregnant.
Let me go get a condom?
They are right over there....

And you held me.
You pulled my pants off.
Touched me.
Touched me.

I told you no.
No, no, please, I can't get pregnant.

Why are you doing this?
"I just want to see how it feels."


Just wanted to see how it felt.

And you were inside me and I was still
saying no.


I covered myself with my hand

and still you tried.


"Well, will you at least suck my dick?"
No I don't...
I don't feel like it.

And then my head
was
full of you.

And you laughed.
"That was unexpected, huh?"
And I was choking.

So I lay there,
just crying.
And your hands,
still feeling.

On me, down my pants.
On me, up my shirt.

My hands slapped yours.

You realized then, I think.



And then you were the victim.



You were crying.

Telling me to slap you.
Over and over.
"Slap me!"

"How can I tell you I love you when
when I do this to you?"

"I've ruined everything!"

"How will you ever look me in the eye again?"
"Will you ever tell me you love me?"


I won't.


Because the man who loves me
truly
would never force himself inside me

would never say sorry

and cry onto me while I lay there

cold and hard.



Broken open.



Used once.




Spent.



He would never spend me like you have.

With the window open.


With my cheeks all wet.


He would never touch me like that
and then think his tears would make it okay.



His tears didn't make it okay.
When he cried for what you did to me.
Only made it worse.


The worst part, though

Is this is a routine.

People touch me



and I don't want it



and then I scrub it off



and weep



and repress it.



This has become routine.
Routine!
Being used.
Invaded.
Violated.
Degraded.


I remember you said,
"I hate them for doing that to you."



Well, fuck you, trusted friend.