My girlfriends giggle and joke.
They talk of love in the back
seat. They take bets on who
will be the first. I can’t tell them
how horrible it is.
Mom has a bad heart and is too
sick, so dad turned to me. It hurts
and I’ll never get used to it. It makes
me sick when he comes in my room.
I must endure in silence; telling
would kill my mom. I’ve gone from
being daddy’s little girl, to being
a piece of meat.
I loathe all men and most boys;
they are all after the same thing.
You’re like a toy, there for their
pleasure. On the day I turn
fifteen next month, I’ll run away.