Penned in a boxcar, wanting to run, I am a horse ready to ride.
The door opens, but this is the wrong master.
I cannot run from this secret tether.
I know these hands, but tonight they are coarse, like burlap,
Prodding at the blanket ... why does he do that?
Wrinkles hide the darkest shadows.
He looks at me with eyes that don't belong to me.
I want to see what shouldn't be happening.
He shrouds his intent.
A tongue pushes against my teeth, searching.
This new fire makes my bedroom air feel like needles in frost,
Like a prickly secret.
A pinch, and the dull relief shows the pain was pleasure.
Startled, red eyes tear up with confusion.
"Let's not tell Mom."
I am a bad girl ... I am a soon woman,
My mind bellows when my mouth won't speak.
Is there any difference?