thank you

To know your eyes lingered my pain in your lust, is to look down on my my hands and see compliance, submission, to go along and to subdue.
Now my palms only serve as reminders of the calluses formed among touching your coarse back, and my nails are chewed with teeth I never claimed, a tongue I never wished to be touched by another, and cuticles that clutch just like you.
If you understood how you tainted my perception, how the pain you inflicted punished me rather than you, would you carry remorse?
No. Your cohort, your collective of sinners, would sling a comforting arm around you, offering support, while my broken limbs would receive no sling, even if my wounds bled for all to see.
You left with you an imprint on my skin, a footprint, on my thighs, at night I peek a glance at the lines the sole of your foot left,
webbed lines bind my legs together spinning around them lace, tight so I never tempt with bare skin again.
Am i obliged to you with gratitude?
Grateful for how you made me flinch at hands pulsing with testosterone, how you fortified my gut instinct with thicker walls,
so when a teacher is lecherous i am able to feel it, or that when a compliment is given to me i can misconstrue it as an invitation to steal innocence together.
I can only thank you for revealing what I should hate about myself, a third eye not spiritual but self deprecating.