He Touched Me

~I wrote this awhile ago, so it is not something I just wrote and not a piece I particularly like, as I'm not a huge fan of rhyming so this feels awkward to me. I am NOT looking for sympathy, so please refrain, I am merely sharing a part of me. Thanks~

He asked me if he'd ever touched my heart, let me count the ways.

He took my hand, professed his love and then put on his boxing gloves.

Guns to my head, knives to my throat, for my twenty-fourth birthday he broke my nose.

His twisted face demanded respect while he wrapped the phone cord around my neck.

Daily beatings endured for years, a pernicious prison barred with fear.

I begged of him to go away.

Yes, he touched me.

Worn out lies and pale excuses, a mask of make-up to hide the bruises.

Verbose beatings, heinous, habitual, my persecution was his ritual.

He was the root of my condition, self inflicted malnutrition.

I became his prized possession, molded into his perfection.

My fragile spirit led astray.

Yes, he touched me that way.

My love of art and written verse, proclaimed by him an evil curse.

To have these thoughts, I was insane, partaking in the devil's game.

He took my sketches, took my "writes," destroyed them with a match that night.

I'd rather take a thousand lashes than watch my passion turn to ashes.

He burned my very soul that day.

Yes, he touched me that way.

He stole me from my family, hidden for all the world to see.

My father was my shining star, I was forced to love him from afar.

Our child witnessed brutal violence, forced to suffer in terrified silence.

Our lives a game for him to play.

Yes, he touched us both that way.

His drug induced salacious lust filled my soul with pure disgust.

His sandpaper hands upon my skin;the hideous nightmare that I was in.

Always hoping to awaken but the truth was that I had been taken.

Spousal rape is what I learned that day.

Yes, he touched me that way.

Now he calls to say he admires me-are his eyes too blind to see?

His words of redemption fall on deaf ears.

Meaningless verbiage I cannot hear.

Those scars I have upon my face, lost time can never be replaced.

If I could travel back , I'd retrace each step,

try to erase the carnage that led to my disgrace,

set things back to their proper place.

All those years have turned to dust.

Forgive? I can't.

Forget? I must.

These words to him, I need to say,

You will never touch me again,

not in any way.