Am I just a vessel? Or a shell?
A place for his hands to dwell
Even if I told him to stop
No one would believe me if I tell

My Mother, she trusts him
To watch me while she’s out
Would she hear my cries
My find fills up with doubt

Am I just an object? Or a shell?
To be taken by force
By a man who never asked
As he pinned me with no remorse

His hands were very forceful
I bet I was easy to impel
The dampness in my basement
Was all I could smell

Tired of sick feelings in my stomach
Welled up inside
I made a choice quite impulsive
I would not abide

I’m not his object, not his toy
So the next time he tried
I backed away told him no
And pushed him aside