They said she was easy.
But I did not see that.
I loved her I know I did.
At fourteen she was more
of a woman than a girl.
I was fourteen too
My eyes were in awe of her.
The other girls in class
we’re jealous of her beautiful
body now moving to womanhood.
Far faster than theirs were.
Boys in the school looked at her
making up lies about her.
Laughing in knowing fantasy.
At sixteen I was still in love with her
She was now sleeping around.
Using her body like a credit card
to buy all she wanted.
She gave pieces of herself
But never her heart
to boys eager to take them.
At twenty she was jaded and hard.
Unable to see the truth of herself.
That she was beautiful and worthy
of being admired for who she is
Not for the hurt and bruises
of grasping hands.
I was still in love with her.
And asked her out.
But she refused putting me
In the pile of  males
That had damaged her
So badly
over her childhood.
But I was still in love with her.