His Hands

It's been 2 years, 8 months, 25 days since i felt your hands

Since your hands were on my hips.

I can still feel them.

I can still feel how your fingers dug into my skin.

Grasping my hips tight as i tried to pull away.

I feel as though your hands are branded onto my skin.

Something i‘ll never be able to free myself from.

I've lost count of how many nights i've cried

Debating whether attempting to cut the invisible brand off would work.

It doesn’t.

It just replaces the feeling for a while.

It's only temporary.

But your hands aren’t.

The last time i saw you, i nearly bumped into you.

You were preoccupied.

You didn’t see the sheer terror on my face.

Suddenly i was transported back in time.

With your hands entrapping me. And your lips in a snarl.

I couldn’t breathe.

It was like someone was sitting on my chest with their hands around my throat.

I stumbled away.

But i couldn’t get far enough before i collapsed.

I hit my head on concrete, scraped my arms up and down.

I looked as broken on the outside as i felt on the inside.

You ruined me.

And i can’t forget no matter how hard i try.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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