Or Was I Just Screaming In My Head? Poem by Jordan Bower

Or Was I Just Screaming In My Head?



I never like being touched there. Cross my heart, hope to die, etc. Well, that's not entirely true. That one time, when Mom left for a long time, just that once did I welcome it.

'Does that make me disgusting? '

I just hadn't been paid attention to for weeks and his hands sheepishly morphed into the endearing praise after an ace'd quiz or an uproarious applause following a flawless ballet recital.

'Was I asking for it the whole time? '

I never liked being touched there, but I never objected either. I learned at a very early age, no one else can hear the screaming inside my head.

'Why didn't you just tell us? '

His muttered urges for my silence and complete cooperation sounded like pleas, but not those for help or concern or innocence. I misinterpreted them as pleas for me. Not so subtle cries of a red, burning desire to have all of my attention and all of my love.

'Don't you want to make me feel good? '

It was never about the pleasure for me. See, he was the one moaning and grunting and shaking and coming. I liked the part after. Like when the credits begin rolling at the end of a movie when you take that one girl out to the one movie theater you know she likes so much.

'Do we stand and leave? Are you done yet? '

That's when he'd put an arm around me. Only sometimes though. Once his mouthing hands covered my mouth. With all my orifices dirtied by age five, I guess that was the safest place to go. The cleanest.

'And just remember: this is our little secret.'

Mom came home just in time to hear nothing about anything. I hugged her aggressively, as that's the only way I (or we?) experience the all-too-taken-advantage-of sense: touch.

'You're starting to like it more. I can tell, see it in your eyes.'

Mom asked where the blanket went. You know, the white, quilt-like one with beautiful, fresh, untainted spring flowers embroidered by the innocent fingers of impoverished, smiling children.

'Where have you been all this time? '

I wish we were telepathic, Mom. I think we'd have a better relationship that way.

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