Grieving Poem by Zyw Zywa

Don't touch me, I strike
fire from my unshed tears
for the tentacles in my belly
I scorch every hand
(including mine)

Don't touch me, my skin
is tight around the old wounds
hardened to an abrasive armour
against what nobody should do
(and yet it happened)

Don't touch me, my belly
does not tolerate any pressure
on the serous membrane around
the spines on the wounds of lust
(of men for me)

Don't touch me, I cry
out the invasive past
from my body for new
cells that know nothing
(virginally)