Trying to Process and Purge
You put your hands on me
And in that moment
A small death occurred
Only it wasn’t so small
How old could I have been –
Five, six, seven, eight?
Too young to learn too much
About touch, and how the laying of hands
On skin, can corrupt, destruct, pervert, penetrate
Years later
I scarred myself externally
To erase the internal scars
To express the inner gash
To protest the destruction of innocence
Years later, it happened again
Two men forcefully opened me
Stole the gift that was supposed to be
Mine to give
Even then, sixteen
I was still a child
I never deserved any of this
It’s not my fault
Today, I am twenty-four, nearing twenty-five
And yet I’m still a child
Stunted, paralyzed
By so many intrusive hands
I never wanted on my
Flesh. I process and process
Try to deal
Make tiny steps forward
My progress is not minimal
I no longer create my own scars
But I’ve hid in bottles and powders and pills
I’ve lashed out at
Everyone who’s made an honest attempt
To love me, to help me
It’s hard for me to properly love myself
Much less anyone else
Relationships explode, disintegrate, disappear
And though I am not always to blame
I rarely play no role
The walls I’ve built
Not only keep others from knowing me
But prevent my own knowledge of self
And then I act impulsively
Make rash decisions
These things are rarely without consequence
Sometimes I sleep with men I care nothing for
And wake up angry, ill defeated
And then, when I sleep with men I know
Men I care for or love
Some subconscious part of me, intent
On sabotage, clings
Pushes away
Insecurity begets a green-eyed monster
And needs no person can meet
Needs no one should be expected to meet
I give only part of myself
And often, that part is not true, real
Tangible, recognizable
I paste on smiles
Make nice, flirt, engage in idle chit-chat
And often, I don’t know who this woman is
Who says these things
Knows these faces and places
I seem to seek out, cling to everything
That can destroy me
And I do this hungrily, eagerly
With an unquenchable thirst, an untamable desire
A yearning I can’t satisfy or even
Name. All I know is there is something more than this
I no longer want to be that child-woman
Face streaked with tears
The “emotional wreck”
You, the ones with the uninvited hands and
Other body parts
You are not the only ones to blame
Nor can I claim innocence in this adventure
And thought I cannot forgive
I have to purge
Let go
Create calm from the chaos
Figure out this woman
Whose mind and body I inhabit
Truly is
Become one with her rescue this drowning child-woman
Make her whole
Make her all woman
copyright 2006 Katherine Andrews
