Cheryl A. Townsend



He raped her
10 years old
It disgusted him
He hated the feeling
Hated her crying Hated her fear
Hated the power that she gave him
Hated it all so much
he killed her
Cut her up
like shattered glass
like breaking a mirror
of his own reflection



one less child to suffer
the hand me down fist of
society hard against naive
skin or the fevered push
of probation ripping flesh
malnourished just the same
to keep that cycle going
to keep that cycle going


Even now
at 38
I wince
when erupting anger
flashbacks you
lunging steel beam hands
that sounded like popping balloons
against my Shirley Temple curls
They were such big hands
The kind that could hug a child completely
but never did
I was terrified 
when the darkness gave no warning
I only remember hurting
and in my young confusion
wondering why nothing I did
was ever good enough
I was always the 
little bitch who told
when really my flesh 
screamed your faults to the world
Hiding in gym class to avoid
questioning innocence or
inquisitive intentions
My mother was just a whiff
of Moondrops as she shut the door
Like lacing up a straightjacket
and I would cry to Jesus
as quiet as I could
PLEASE make somebody love me
fighting self-pity today
that nobody ever did
and before I can catch 
the reality at hand
the tears already give evidence
No matter how many years
or miles away from you I get
You're still abusing
the need of a child
      Cheryl A. Townsend
      © 1997

Back...  More...