for my friends, the survivors.
This morning I was afraid of the bath:
his descriptions ran like razors down my thighs and I nearly threw up on my feet.
The tender parts felt hollow and I drowned in the scent that he spoke of so favourably.
This evening as I stand once again in the bath, I cup my breasts and call them mine.
I wash the rough touches and sordid words from my skin with a gentle hand,
drawing my legs up to kiss my knees and ask my body forgiveness.
I am sorry for taking on shame.
My precious, beautiful body, you are all I have, I will take you to the grave.
You will carry me through much worse than this, but I promise to never give you up to unloving hands again.