Hands

by FENJA AKINDE HUMMEL

A shiver passes through my body When I feel like it is not my own How many hand prints would there be If each unwanted palm stained my skin? Extreme discomfort That you mistake for flattery. Years upon years. I thought you’d known me too long to sexualize me. But still. Watched me carry myself (tiptoe) through adolescence With the same discomfort you inflict on me now. And then, it was like a light switched on. And you could see it clearly I am a butterfly emerging from the cocoon of prepubescence. I’m fuckable now.

Photo by Kaye Song