Anonymous. Poetry. 2013.
content warning: abuse I knew when I touched her, it was true. Pulsing around my neck, in between my toes — A sense of perfect, of right Of everything. The universe made sense now, The way her soft voice begged my name, the hitch in my breath. Ferociousness ripped through me, Beating down the edges of trauma and suffering, Opening my dark chest to warmth. Primal desire and a child’s safety, Allowed, allotted, apportioned, Received. The Abuse, the Trauma, the Victimhood Lessens while I am submerged in righteousness and reason. Where He does not touch me. Where I do not touch Him. Where I can say NO, I can say STOP. It’s where I belong, With her. That I knew.
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