clue I was being molested. Even at nineteen, I had to have
this pointed out to me.
I used to talk about it onstage all the time, ’cause parents
say, “If somebody touch your private parts, or if somebody
hurt your pee-pee, or if somebody pushed their private
parts on you, you tell somebody.”
But that man never did any of that. I never saw his penis.
I never touched his penis. He never tried to make me touch
him, and he never tried to touch my privates. He just sucked
on my titties every day. And he wasn’t even like, telling me
not to tell anyone. I just never said anything, because I
thought he was hooking me up. I thought he was helping me
out.
I guess maybe we gotta update what we tell kids—that
old men sucking your titties is also molestation.
Belonging
As a young kid, it didn’t feel like nobody cared about me or
protected me (except for my grandma). It didn’t feel like
anybody gave two fucks about me, unless it was benemting
them. Unless they was getting paid. Unless it was making
them look good in some kind of way. Me just being myself
was never good enough for anyone to love me.
My auntie Gina, she taught me how to dance. We would
dance together, but that was so I could dance with her at
weddings and make her look good. Having a little girl
copying her moves. But I don’t think it was because she