so young and so hurt

I thought I was cared for
until your harsh calloused hands gripped my thin arms
shoving me against the hardwood floor.
You let my screams of "no" and "stop" dissapear
as if everything I said didn't exist.
I realized screaming wouldn't stop your hands
from touching me where they shouldn't have.
No pleasure was felt for what would I have known
when a fifty-year-old man thrust
against my eight-year-old self.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem