Grandmothers Should Bake
Cold, scrawny fingers
Like flesh-covered ice
Tell me for everything
There is a price.
They slip underneath
My shirt, then my bra
My emotions have never
Been nearly this raw.
She grabs and rubs,
She takes off my shirt
I stand there, alone,
Confused and hurt.
I know that she shouldn't
Touch me this way,
She should be baking
And teaching me to play.
Her hands slide down
My sides, I cry
As she brings a hand
Between my thighs.
Grandparents should never
Treat grandchildren this way,
But I guess this is
The price I pay.
Coming to her house,
Reminded I'm trash,
My mental health
Starts to crash.
Though I haven't seen
Her face in years,
Those fingers, like ice,
Still sometimes bring tears.
The memory of her
Hands on my skin
Will haunt me forever
From deep within.
Sewin’ Rowan
My Etsy shop has pouches, pillows, and wallets, all hand-made by either myself or my shop partner. I'll be adding more items soon. Come take a look for yourself today! https://www.etsy.com/shop/SewinRowan