Touch Starved

My relationship with touch is being taken away. 

Corrupted into something I can’t chose, 

Something that is acted upon me.

People hold me for comfort,

Push me away when I try to do the same,

Think little else of what our relationship could possibly be.

Always ask if someone wants a hug,

That’s what I do,

Because while my impulse is to reach out and hold them

I can’t just take away their right

To not be wrapped up in what might’ve been a self-serving embrace as it is.

But people hold onto me without asking all the time. 

Lay their head to my breast,

Play with my hair,

Rest upon my shoulder.

Some of these are just absent minded gestures, 

Gestures I can fall into myself when all is well.

But lately the swipes at my ass, snatches at my neck,

And imagined tortures projected at me by hardened eyes 

Have outweighed the softness.

The leans have become more lascivious,

The holds more jarring.

Every touch is an invasion now.

And my own touches become harsher. 

Become defense.

Devices to shove off, not hold close.

I want to be held unselfishly close

By someone who does not care about my physical appeal

Someone who does not wish to break my spirit,

But by someone who simply wants to feel the tension ebb out of my body 

As I fall asleep in their arms.

But every touch is an invasion now.