When I was 6 many hands touched me

Some to bath me

Some to clothe me

Some to play with me

Some to feed me

Some to cuddle me

Some to guide me

There were many.

Many hands.


When I was 6 a hand touched me that

Was negative to the positive feel of a touch

It carried me up.

Not to throw me in the air to catch me

Not to hold me up to bath me

Not to play with me

Not to cuddle me

Not to stop me from crying

It touched me in a way that was negative to the positive feel of a touch

And I was 6



I remember this touch

Because it was coarse and hard

A Discourse to be barred

A source to bombard

A force to guard

A  loss to hoard



I was 6

With humpty dumpty and little red riding hood as friends

My panties weren’t thongs

My breast never kissed bra s

My hips had no width

My butt didn’t have flesh

I was 6 when he touched me



See,I remember the clothes I wore

I can draw the patterns in the dress he tore

The undies that made him bore

I was too young to be thought a whore

I had never known tragedy before

I screamed to his ignore

I cried my eyes to sore

Yet he wanted to explore

The treasure he couldn’t restore

My fears run to its core

My body of bones too frail to implore

I was 6 when his touch hurt me without cure



Then When I was 6 years younger than twenty

I met one too many friends

Who knew the touch I knew

Because a hand like that that had touchedme

The negative to the positive feel of a touch had held them


I recognized the fear I knew.

I saw the mistrust I owned

I noticed the hatred I carried

We were a tribe to a shared experience

We were a family to an emotional tragedy

We were kinsmen to a culture betrayed



You know, I tried a few things to forget

Pretending to be tending a tenderly emotional heart

Pretending crying every night was normal

Pretending mistrusting everyone was safe

Pretending the nightmares weren’t scary

Pretending the hatred for the action that caused the hatred for the person to cause the hatred for me was hatred worthwhile



But I couldn’t pretend I had selective amnesia

Tried as I might,

This wasn’t an attempt by my mind to shield itself from the anxiety caused by an unresolved conflict. Upon encountering a situation that may be symbolic of this inner conflict and so goes into a form of trance to avoid experiencing the conflict.


There were way too many conflicts in my mind to fully commit to pretend

So I took a gamble with hatred to choose one pretense

Pretending the hatred for the action that caused the hatred for theperson to cause the hatred for me washatred worthwhile

I was so drenched in unforgiving peril

I traded the glee and excitements of child hood

To tears and fears

The dread of being haunted by nightmares of hands raking my virtue

Leading my innocence for the slaughter

And did I say was six? #smile

I was Six years younger than twenty



But I got me fooled

Didn’t take me long to realize that anger, pain, fear, bitterness partied in the same club

And when u let one though the door

The rest gate crash their way past the bouncers

I wanted to Part ways

Yet Parting to stay apart from the part I have lived all those years a part of

Was like trying to get free from a rope Hoisted round your ankles dangling u upside down

But it’s hard to see clearly when your up is sided down



I was one mistake away from being saved

I was passing anger from one scarred hand to another

Like a hand acrobat in a show

I peppered and salted the pain so bad it almost tasted good

See I was nursing a decayed hurt.

Covering it up with all kinds of stuff to make  it any less messy

Truth is, that was like curing a cough with Imodium

Or HIV with aspirin

But see Bitterness held too long Changes the hue of the pain caused

I mean the buzzer was bright on green but I chose to be dazed on the red

but u know bitterness .its that kind of moochy friend  that dictates your every emotion –right or wrong  and won’t let go when even u r desperate to leave.



And so that was the case till I was 6years older than 10

By then few hands touched me

Only to shake me

Or perhaps pat me

Maybe to steal a hug

Or hit our fists

They were few…

Few hands

yet I remember one

Which was the positive to the positive feel of a touch


He lifted me up

Not to bathe me

Not even to cuddle

He wouldn’t throw me on a bed

Even though I wore bras n thongs now

My hips were then swollen and my butt had flesh

But he wanted none of it

He wouldn’t tear my clothes

He didn’t touch my skin

But yet he touched me



See He knew I had hurts.

His words weren’t flirts

Never spoke with a curt

Didn’t care I wasn’t a pert

He touched me,

It was a touch that was positive to the positive feel of a touch


He wrestled my fears to flee:

Entered the unspeakable crevices of my heart

 A bargain to forgive as He forgives

a righteous insanity of letting go of of a person’s  sin  77times but

it s pointless  to fight  the landlord  over His house when all u have is a tenancy agreement.

He  was clear when he asked to  forgive.

for There is never a pain so painful

Never a hurt so hurtful that it can’t heal

Never a sin so sinful that it cant be forgiven

Never an abuse so dire n grave its memories He can’t lose

Never molestation, neglect, dissappointment

Never an experiece so gory that from it He cant gain glory


When I was 6 hands touched me

to bath me

 to clothe me

Some to play with me

Some to feed me

Some to cuddle me

Some to guide me

There were many.

Many hands.

yet there was a hand that was positive to the positive feel of a touch

the Lord touched me

And since He did

I have been made WHOLE


Author: ohwooçua

Christ in me, cant help but to OuTsHiNe :)

13 thoughts on “HE TOUCHED ME”

  1. You have shared your personal story with such elegance and beauty, it is all the more alarming that this is real. You are and will be appreciated by many, for opening up and sharing in this way. If you do not mind, I will mention you in The Neighborhood, soon. Want the neighbors to know you are here.

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