your hands grab my waist,
maybe you're just falling,
it's a crowded train,
we can all barely breathe,
everyone is touching everyone,
backs leaning on backs,
it's normal,
it's fine,
but something about your hold is
different to the ones of others,
you didn't let go,
hands on my hips,
pushing yourself onto me,
my heart races,
i can't let this happen again,
i try to leave the train but,
you pull me back holding onto me more tightly than ever,
i can't breathe my eyes are watering,
the next station,
i wait until i hear the three long beeps,
and i bolt out the doors,
i didn't look back,
i couldn't see,
my eyes cloudy with tears.
Is it my fault?
i asked myself again and again.
is it just me?
it can't be my clothes, my sweater, jacket, shorts, bras, jeans, underwear.
is it just me?
i think i'm a magnet,
and your hands of abuse are the metal.
