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Poem: ‘Reclaiming my Sexuality After Assault’

3 min read

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]


The opinions expressed by the guest writer/blogger and those providing comments are theirs alone and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of Brown Girl Magazine, Inc., or any employee thereof. Brown Girl Magazine is not responsible for the accuracy of any of the information supplied by the guest writer/bloggers. This work is the opinion of the blogger. It is not the intention of Brown Girl Magazine to malign any religion, ethnic group, club, organization, company, or individual. If you’d like to submit a guest post, please follow the guidelines we’ve set forth here.

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