I couldn’t stop you

My mom used to tell me that as a lady, I had to be kind to everyone no matter what. The Bible says that as well. I can't escape it. Well, I don't want to be kind anymore. If you're allowed to walk all over me, I'm allowed to tell the truth. I couldn't stop you.

I've never enjoyed the feeling of physical contact, not even from my family. This girl used to hug me without my consent in the first grade, and I guess I still hold a grudge. It's been many years since then, yet I can't get over it. You used to touch me and hold my hand when I didn't want to. I felt pressured to. I couldn't stop you.

My love language is words of affirmation, yet the compliments I received from you seemed too good to be true. You called me beautiful, but only after I called you the same thing. You called me hot, but a young girl doesn't want to be considered hot by her boyfriend. She wants to be loved. I am not hot, nor am I beautiful. I am ugly, scarred by your touch and the secrets you kept from me. When I walk past you, I feel those scars burning my skin like a fresh tattoo. I couldn't stop you.

I remember the first time I hugged you. I'd never had contact with a boy before. You asked to hug me, then whispered "I love you" in my ear. Back then, I felt you truly loved me. Someone who loves a woman wouldn't do that. I did love that hug, actually, but not anymore. After that, you wanted more. I didn't. I couldn't stop you.

I used to love you, boy, but I couldn't stop you. How I wish I could stop you. Maybe my skin wouldn't be full of all these tattoos.