Ode to a molester

He hurt her, but it was ok.

She would take it. That’s her way.

It didn’t matter what he did.

Her feelings were something she kept hid.

Day after day, she buried the pain.

Until that day it began to rain.

The flood of tears soon drowned him out

As she stabbed his heart and began to shout.

Her rage was something fresh and new.

She could no longer think, but only do.

The pain he’d caused was returned in spades.

She would hide his body back there in the shade.

She’d dreamed for months about this day

When his sick game she’d no longer play.

She’d loved him once with child-like trust.

He only saw her with twisted lust.

His touch had turned her love to hate.

She wasn’t ready. She was only eight.


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