To all the people who’ve touched my body, I regret extending the invitation. I’m guilty of associating with people who found bodies to be a sport. Love didn’t reside within so there was no way value would be offered and my heart to be cared for. I allowed love to awaken too soon. I became haunted by a demon who found pleasure in me burning with passion. I don’t blame you, none of you. How could I when you were playing with the same demon, possibly, unknowingly. To all the people who’ve touched my body, the ones who thought permission was granted. Close calls is still considered crossing the lines and out of bounds you were. Who told you your title as a deacon entitled you to guilt the innocent. This was not a mystery you were to hold on to. Your desire for dishonest gain put a stumbling block to your faith. I’m surprised you continued with a clear conscience. To all the people who’ve touched my body, I didn’t earn any of the hits you placed on me. Your hands are meant to hold a woman up not tear them down. A pillow is meant for a head to rest peacefully not wrestle in taking one’s breath away. A knife is meant to prepare food not preparation for a funeral. I apologize that your mother didn’t give you the nurturing you needed or that your father gave a poor example. Yet still I should not have been the example of your pain. To all the people who’ve touched my body, I forgive you. There’s no place for bitterness to reside. It is no longer welcome. The stay didn’t allow my growth to grow. I have found more peace in letting go than holding on to what only belongs to the Most High, revenge.