Hands in my pants – Poem in progress

First Draft

Dad’s hand in my pants,
underneath the underwear.
How old am I?
Old enough to recognize the strange look sis gave me meant ew and that this is weird.
That look makes me feel shamed and embarrassed.
I hold onto this feeling any time a man tries to remove my clothing.
How old am I?
Old enough to realize that I’m receiving looks that mean why are you so strange? I thought this was mutual?
so did i.
I can’t help this feeling of awkward shame, guilt, and embarrassment.
Maybe it’s not mutual,
just aggression received with passive acceptance.
Does it matter? No. I have accepted this happened.
To me it is nothing but an old boxed memory in storage that when brought out makes me feel and remember
Am I damaged goods? No, I am only plagued by ew when that memory is brought out.
Does this memory disturb me? No.
Does it disturb the way I live my life? No, not at all.
Dad’s hand in my pants,
Well, there have been several hands in my pants since ew,
Am I damaged because of those hands? No.
I am well, I am healthy, I am happy, I am sad, I am neutral.
I just am, and I am ok with that.


So, definitely defiiiiinitely first draft right now. Not sure when I’m going to fix it up, but I’ll keep the handwritten version near me in case any ideas come up and I’ll update it here too. This poem came to me because I thought about how so many people seem to pity or feel awkward about a person when some big secret that’s not a social norm comes out. Example, having potentially been molested as a child by your own father. Well, yeah. I probably was, and me saying probably is just my way of coping with yeah, it really did happen, but only probably really happened. In any case, I don’t think it has made me in any way unable to function socially with people or society. There’s this image I have in my mind that people act awkward and weird towards people who’ve had moments like this in their life. Really though, why? We are who we are. If you liked me as I was prior to me telling you this happened, why treat me any different because of this new fact? I am who I was when you liked me prior to the fact because of my history. Just because you now know the history makes no difference in the me you liked before the fact, and the me you (hopefully still like) after the fact. Well, anyways. I just wanted to to express that I feel normal, and shit like this is normal because it happens often enough for people to write about.


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