Trigger warning: sexual violence
“My Hands” narrates my experience of masturbation post-assault. As a survivor of sexual assault, the way I processed all things sexual, whether it be with just myself or a second party, after the assault, has been difficult and different than before. This poem, albeit amateur and choppy, explores my own thought process as to why I react the way I do after I masturbate. I want to share this poem because this is such a taboo subject and I haven’t heard of anyone else feeling this way. But if there is someone out there in the same situation as me, they should know that they are not alone in this difficult and confusing time.
[Read Related: Sexual Assault and Intimacy-5 Sex Tips I Wish Someone Told Me]
My Hands
When I touch myself,
I cry and panic,
I look at my hands,
and I wonder why
My hands held my father’s index finger
as I ran around a park
with a smile on my face
My hands picked up the stuffed animals
as I created characters of them
so they could be a part of my story
My hands picked up a pencil
as I attempted to write the alphabet
out for the first time
My hands played on a piano
as I learned the notes to some of
my favorite Bollywood songs
My hands cupped my grandmother’s face
as I leaned in
to kiss her cheek
My hands picked up the plates
as I set the table
for breakfast, lunch, and dinner
My hands baked chocolate chip cookies
as I wanted to satisfy
my sibling’s midnight cravings
My hands texted the boy I like
as I laughed at another
funny joke he made
My hands ran through his hair
as I kissed his lips
while he held my face
My hands embraced my friends
as I comforted them over their
boy problems, bad grades, and family troubles
My hands heated up popcorn
as I watched a movie
in my home theatre with my favorite people
My hands guided the steering wheel
as I drove around local roads
listening to Khalid’s “Suncity” on repeat
My hands raised a glass of water to my lips
as I began to feel weak
and almost fainted on the bathroom floor
My hands poured myself a Svedka shot
as I yearned to taste
the wild dangers of illicit fun
My hands rolled a blunt
as I took a breath to inhale
one of the wonders of mother Earth
My hands wrapped around my friend’s shoulder
as I tried to hold her intoxicated body steady
and get her home safely
My hands have done so much for me,
they have shown me beauty, love, happiness, comfort, care
yet where were they,
when I needed them most
My hands were silent,
as he advanced towards me
ripping apart my own body from me
When I touch myself,
I cry and panic,
I look at my hands,
and I wonder
is it because my hands let someone in without my heart and mind’s consent?
[Read Related: Dear Sexual Assault Survivors, You Are Not Alone, We Will Stand By You]
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