“Don’t touch me, though.” (my lil analysis)

I wrote a poem.

Don’t touch me, though.

This was written a little while ago. I remember writing this in my notes app in the dark of my college dorm bedroom, trying to be quiet as my roommates slept. Reading it now makes me feel sad for the girl who wrote this-how broken and used she felt. I can remember it clearly, and I’m glad I’m not living through it still.

This is about the sexualization of girls that is disguised as young love. It’s about grooming, it’s about physical insecurities, and it’s about being a woman. 

This piece wasn’t targeted to any person in particular. Rather, it was about all of my romantic experiences summed up. How I felt after experiencing love at a young age and feeling the rose-colored glasses fall off. My realization of the treatment I received and the acknowledgement of how I had been loved. I wonder, was it really love?

The compliments I receive from partners have varied between my front and my back, but never what’s inside. My friends and family are able to express their admiration for my non-physical qualities, from my intelligence to my humor. How is it that they are able to see so much more of me than any lover of mine ever has? 

Maybe it’s because they’re not looking at the pleasure I could bring them with my body. Maybe it’s because my loved ones aren’t thinking about my physical aesthetic and how I can get them off. Maybe the people I’ve been interested in were too interested in my body to care about my brain.

This poem holds a special place in my heart and it’s one of my favorite pieces to this day. 

Thanks for reading it.

Can you hold me without any expectations?

Can you hug me without feeling me up?

Look into my eyes, don’t let them travel.

Stare at my face, not my figure.

Think about my silhouette, not my curves.

Peer into my soul. Dive into my heart. Sink under the layers of my mind.

There are both physical and emotional aspects to relationships. But, in this moment all I wanted was someone to love me for my mind, not my body. I question whether it is possible that someone could love me this purely. Without the temptation of sex and lust overcrowding their feelings for me.

Hold me, not to fuck me, just to touch me.

Trace your fingers on the palm of my hand, not up my legs.

Brush my hair back with a smile. Dance with me in the kitchen. Take me on a picnic.

Think of me when you’re happy- not horny.

Don’t you taint me too.

Want me, don’t touch me, though.

Feel me, don’t touch me, though.

As we get older, I feel that women crave innocent love. We want to be reminded of youthful times and for someone to love our inner child. We are scared of feeling used. I’m scared of only being needed for my body. I’m scared of getting used to that expectation and calling it love. Could we touch without using it as a means of foreplay? Does every time we meet have to be tainted with the memories of your physical needs? 

It makes me feel uncomfortable in my own skin.

If you do, I won’t really be there.

My body will lay in your arms, but my mind will never be yours.

If you cross that line, if you need my body more than my mind,

you’ll never get a glimpse at either.

This is my favorite part of the poem. What I mean here is that if my partner only wants my physical attributes, they won’t really ever have all of me. I’ll block them out as a defense mechanism. They won’t get to know who I really am or any part of my mind. If they push me to meet their physical needs, without giving a care about my emotional needs, well that’s a mistake you can’t come back from.

My vulnerability is not earned. It is lost.

I used to trust people so easily. This was a simple thing for me to do. I was vulnerable with my thoughts and emotions. But betraying that can change everything. Trust does not come back after betrayal of any kind. You can say you forgive somebody, but that level of trust and safety you once had with them won’t ever fully return. You don’t earn my trust and you don’t earn me. You already had me before you lost me.

Could you love me even if you couldn’t touch me?

If I didn’t have breasts would you still want to call me up?

Could my soul attract your greatest desires? Or do yours only stem from the blood rushing with gravity’s pull?

If I didn’t have a pretty face would you still stare into my eyes as if you truly see me?

Could your love for me exist without the factor of my body?

Again, I go back to all of the endless, theoretical questions that doubt love’s complexity. I wonder if I’ll ever get the answer I want from these questions. Here I question whether I would even be in a romantic situation if I wasn’t so naive with my innocence. Has everything I’ve thought was deep about love just been superficial this whole time?

I’m sick of being loved for my skin.

Love me for my soul, please.

I hope anyone reading this doesn’t actually relate to it. This is pretty hefty stuff. If you do relate, I’m sorry girlie. However, this is not the end of our love stories! It’s simply the beginning:) With every new experience we replace the old bad memories with new good ones. At least we can walk away knowing we learned from every phase or relationship we go through. I hope someone will love us for All that we are.

-Avaia