Pourama pourama

His voice whispers in the night. I need the separation of bodies," he says. He can accommodate my love only if it doesn't express itself in my flesh. He recognizes my feelings, but tonight I want him to recognize my skin. His refusal is a wall defending his blondness against my tenderness. His refusal pushes me back. I go back in time. My adult body, which has found itself through the hands of the men who have laid their hands on it, disappears. Once again, I'm trapped in my child's body. My body of shame. My body that cannot be touched. My body that must be hidden. My body that must be silenced.