Tonight I was *****.
I got persuaded by a ten year old boy,
A boy of 6,
Into doing "things".
His supple boy skin,
Mine suppler not even sun kissed,
yet kissing ****.
Tonight. I'm 24.
I hurt from every pore,
As my breathing shallows.
I tried *******, only a taste.
I ate a pin ***** size morsel.
Throat closed, anaphylaxis.
The praxis of finding out, through rashes of histamine.
Every time I shower.
I played in the mud.
Doesn't wash off.
Guilt.
Oh man, how my grandma used to try.
Scrub me.
I'd scrub just as hard,
Till raw in my arms.
Every evening.
I lay in bed.
contemplate things.
Look at what has happened.
I see him again.
I cry,
I weep,
I spit,
Oh curses.
Can't change it.
Can't take my mouth off his ****.
You know. The good stuff.
Bein' a kid is hard...
Bein' adult that was once a kid is harder'
You know. They used to put us in prison.
Line us up in rows, make us do LOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNGGGGGGGG division.
Walk in a straight line. Hold your inmates hand.
I used to work the problems backwards,
The teachers would get mad at me,
Make me work at their desk,
Knew i must be cheating,
Made me teach class,
I never grew up from that.
I used to think that this happy trail led to a ******,
Once closed up.
I thought I was gay.
Now...I just know that.
Well happy trails aren't always happy.
At least mines finally growing hair.
Kinda got ***** at 6 years old haha. booooo hoooooo fun stuff. Win some lose some. Please no comments. Unless they are negative or about the poem not the content. Want no consolation. seriously.
Lendon