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Touch

 


You might crave your new woman’s touch,
long for her embrace like a cherished clutch—
but I have wanted to self-immolate
because of your touch.

Run around, claim you’ve won a jackpot,
but it’s not rejection I fear—
it’s your filthy gaze, your uninvited touch.

You said you were being cruel to be kind?
I’d love to press rewind.
You begged for my love first,
but now you chase another—
just hunger, no soul.

I know how it feels to be touched without permission.
Yet, you—relentless—pressed me to submit,
to erase my no as if it never existed.

While you laughed,
busy painting me as a rejected soul,
I spent nights undoing every single touch.

So go ahead, call me vile—
but even after all that,
I was good to you.

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