� Touch � 2002-12-09 � 8:30 a.m. �
Lets make no mistake... I spent my last years of high school molested by a boy who makes me sick....
So yes... when the way you touch me tastes like him... I am GOING to pull away.... when I tell you to stop and you laugh... your face turns from yours to his. And contrary to your high and mighty belief that I need a therapist to get through this... no fucking degree is going to give me back anything he took from me....
Nor can you.
So make no mistake... the more you do all the things you know I hate... I am not just a prude... I have blood and scars behind me.
The more you do it... the more I am viloated constantly... and unlike him.. I believe you love me.
I dreamt last night of every touch and punch and ache I endured the last while in the sanctity of my own classrooms. I dreamt of every word he spoke to me through the walls... last night they were blue and brick.
I don't feel the hate and anger from you that is him... but my body says the touch is the same.
I guess I just want you to understand that stitches or no stitches... I still bleed...
When I say it, you're never really listening.
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