I hear his muddy footsteps
as he enters the room.
The stall door creaks
from the slightest touch of his monstrous hands.
I was only six at the time,
so innocent, so unaware of life's real darknesses.
The smell of alcohol on his breath
fills the room.
I am alone, alone, alone.
I cry for help, but the only answer
is silence.
I beg him to stop
but that only entices him.
Suddenly, my childhood is lost
with the slip of his hand.
Today, I am still haunted by those memories.
Still wary of strangers and what they may do.
And what for?
For your instant gratification?
For your ****** release?
No more. Enough.
You do not get anything from this.
Because I am still walking.
I am still alive.
I am still that same boy you violated 8 years ago.
You lose. I win.
This poem is the story of the day in which my life was changed. 8 years ago, I was molested. I hope to reach out to all of those going through ****** abuse and let them know that they are not alone.