A smile is not an invitation.
A young girl, only eleven years old
Far too young to become a damaged good.
There was no screaming or shouting that day,
Only the whimpers of a broken child.
She forfeited toys and a youthful presence
For makeup to cover the sadness,
And delicate marks across her wrist.
She grew up empty, a hole drilled into
Her at age eleven, when her tee shirt and
Denim skirt was not enough to stop her demons.
Royal blue mangled seats haunt her nightmares,
The demon a boy with fingers like fish.
His fingers left scars like seeds on her legs,
Trees of scars will soon grow to block the sun.
Years later, she still flinches when a boy
Even catches her eye the wrong way. Her eyes
Well with tears when they decide to wrap
Their arms around her hips, hips covered with
The scars and the lingering memories.
Denim skirts and Barbie dolls were given
In exchange for her magnificent youth.
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