Touch Phobia

A poem by Shelby-Liza Ndumbi

When did I first have that thought? Oh, yeah, I was in fifth grade 

It was something that kept tugging at my braids 

I remember thinking about my own love story 

It lasted all but five minutes, it left me feeling ghastly  

Holding hands made me physically uncomfortable 

And kissing gave me stomach troubles 

Swirling around on a mattress with a set of familiar eyes undressing you from behind  

Using their fingertips along your spine 

Ooh, one would normally like that 

But I’d rather break their limbs with a bat 

His long, dangling crutch 

Her bright, bouncing chest  

Am I considered empty for choking at the mere idea of skin contact?  

I knew I was missing nothing from what I lacked 

The second time I thought about it, marriage was brought to the table 

I reckoned I wasn’t capable 

My teeth gritted, and my face frowned  

It never really mattered because my voice fell and wasn’t found 

You wet the sheets with your inner juices, you see 

Am I meant to jump around in glee?  

Knowing full well I have all this extra laundry 

I have no more space for you to sit, please  

To have kids, you must bear kids  

Pregnancy or adoption, what are your bids?  

I could never imagine myself as a balloon 

I’ll be nothing but a mental typhoon, somewhere in mid-June  

These gloves I wear won’t bother you at first 

But my curves will become your thirst 

You’ll curse the day you binded yourself to me 

I won’t just be bad, I’ll be the worst  

I suggest you question yourself again, am I really?  

Your fingers or your stick, it’s so measly 

I’ll need multiple cleansers for my head 

I can’t stand the thought of cum on my bed 

Third times the charm to think about it 

I choose to set fire to your arm bit by bit 

I know it’s not the best decision 

But you must admit, it’s quite the transition 

I don’t hate love 

I simply prefer to look at it from above 

Over the years, I debated my sexuality 

Being asexual became a possibility 

I knew I was content to not be caressed 

No way in hell was someone touching my breasts 

Motherhood. Children. Husband 

Motherhood. Children. Husband 

Motherhood. Children. Husband 

The kind of propaganda that was suspiciously bent 

If you do, don’t feel sorry for me 

I've never felt lonely 

My desire to remain single doesn’t come with a price 

But if you come near me, I’ll put you on ice 

I’m only doing what I think is right 

That includes not stroking your plights  

TOP PHOTO: Found on Pinterest