As much as it killed me,
Reliving that day,
I had to incriminate the hand that touched me.
To save you the same regret of not knowing how to scream when they take you to bed.
I should have opened my mouth.
I should have cried harder.
When the hand touched me,
A vital part of me died.
Darling you are still alive.
Just as I am,
But the hand that never touched you,
Keeps me up at night.
So here I sit,
And people stare,
As I tell the world that he touched me there.
It was not a joke.
This is not for show.
This is to save other girls.
There should be no pity.
No stares.
No saving.
A man that didn’t want to hear the word “no;” he deserves nothing.
He will sit in a cell,
If my words are believed.
He may regret it.
He may regret me.
But his hands will be safe, locked behind bars.
And my body will be safe,
And so, will yours.
HCXO,
Stephanie