I wrote a poem about my experience. I have nowhere to share it and thought this would probably be the best place. I know it’s not award-winning material, but I’m still proud of it. It’s called “Your Hands”

Your hands trace my body.

My body is not yours. Yet,

you touch me as if I belong to you.

You put your hands between my legs.

Squeezing. Groping. Molesting.

I try to think of an explanation as to why

they should be there. But they should not be there. There is no reason.

I try to move your hands away.

But they keep moving closer.

You put your hands on my private area.

An area I was told belongs to me.

For me only to touch. That was mine.

But apparently, that was yours too.