You Stole My Innocence

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I take showers that leave me bleeding and raw, create steam that tries to escape through the locked and barricaded bathroom door, yet I can’t escape your hands on my hips, your tongue on my lips. Does it ever truly end? I’m stuck in that room, you above me, whispering filthy words that hold no truth yet are all too true.

Screams through the night, skin rubbed raw, blood pooling underneath me. When would it stop? It felt like it never would leave me alone. Maybe I deserved it.

They taught me to hate the word please. I can’t say it without feeling their hands on me, my body feeling the ghost of what it’s been forced through. It’s been four years since those five years in Hell, yet I feel like I can’t ever escape it.

Hands. There are too many hands, touching, reaching, grabbing, clawing. I want them to stop. I want the whole world to just stop.

Who would miss me? My life has no meaning that I want. If there’s a God, then they’re a twisted being for who would make me this way?

You monster. I was a fucking child. A child. A child whose life and happiness you stole, a child who you defiled and thought wouldn’t be affected. Or maybe you wanted me to be affected. Maybe you wanted me to feel this pain. Maybe, you wanted me to cry. You did love my screams.

I survived. Just barely, this body survived. But this fragmented soul did not. What did you do to me?

Here’s a song recommendation for any of you if you have a CSA-type playlist: Poor Marionette by Sarah Cothran.