Don't Touch Me

No, I'm being serious, don't touch me.
Your finger bones crack under sandpaper skin, a costume that doesn't quite fit.
I'm not shaking that.
I don't care if we're family, I don't care if that hurts your feelings.
You wanna know what really hurts? Scrubbing my hands until they bleed, bathing my cracking hands in sanitizer,
and bleaching everything I own, all because someone's mommy never taught them no means no.
You can't hold my hand. You can't use my phone. And most of all, you can't treat me this way anymore.
You think it's funny. Dragging your filth over me whenever you can. Like it's a game. When I sob, you giggle.
Well, if I stop taking your calls, you know why.
Don't touch me.
And if you're going to, leave.

Written February 2020, Revised Briefly March 2021

Take me back.

Take me home.