The numbing of my knuckles as they come in contact over and over with the tiles wet from the shower I’m using to try to feel clean again.
Somehow I still feel their hands on me. Fingerprints left like stains, they feel like a birthmark I wish I was never born with but I was never born with it.
Instead I was branded.
They were not something you could wash away, skin deep. I’ve tried to dig them out, believe me I tried.
My body is my home and I never invited them in. They threw a welcome party, one that costed me the cleanliness of my own skin.