once I was a child
but I was never innocent
because when my father told me he loved me
he did it with a leather belt
and a buckle that gleamed
each time it struck my already knowing body
pounding out years of masculine entitlement
I knew there were words he had heard his whole life
and in my blistered skin lied the understanding
women are less
best when subservient and quiet
so quiet I was
while I buried my head in freshly washed soft sheets
and tried to forget that this person
who hated me so well
also soothed me to sleep
told me I was beautiful
and that I could do anything
so quiet I was
he couldn't hear me scream
scream for the pain
scream for the mother who wasn't opening the door
to come rescue me
once I was a child
but I was never innocent