Confessions to a once Alter Boy

There were no usual confessions lingering in my head that night. Tales of careless actions remembered when I didn’t know what my truth was as he taunted me with his charms. I was 50 and still not set free to feel a woman without the child’s mind. In the remembrance of watching as I readied myself for the day. The night before we were left alone. My mind was captured by a playful hand of attention I didn’t understand. Fingers wrapping and tracing mine. Pushed and turned by memories of words that’s meaning were lost as I struggled with being touched by easy admiration, not usually allowed. My friend and one of my husband's friends, he wouldn’t leave me alone. There was no stroking or authorization or permission to move forward. No bodies matching face to face, just face down as I was once again being humiliated by a sickness and inability to say no.

In this confession wrapped in memories, I’ve packed my thoughts away, remembered as life became wrong.  I want to heal this moment of knowing I was not to blame. Feeling in the back of  my eyes and knowing.  There are no escaping memories of weakness carried for so long and wishing the truth hadn’t been so wrapped; as it punished me and still does.

Secrets can carry and confuse and when expressed, I know that they are my confessions for healing. I want care with a gentle hand touching me with a tender loving thought. Perhaps it was my lust that had no education to be freed, only abused. The longing for care is wanted as I sit now with my own text waiting. Set free to be confident as I move in my life. Sorry will no longer be an apology to myself.