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.
