Little Girl
Little girl’s dream filled with play and laughter, little girl’s reality filled with unwanted touches while trying slip into unconsciousness, while she tries to forget everything. Touches from coarsen palms...hands dead and old, dried with hard toil. Hands that have no business touching the softness of this little girl. Presenting smells that a little girl has no business inhaling. Groans and pants that have no place in a little girl’s ear.
Little girl’s dream filled with play and laughter, little girl’s reality filled unwanted touches. Sleep has been robbed with fear and quivering in hot temperatures. Watching shadows under her door, waiting for the now familiar shuffling of feet, the smell of activities of day. Little girl no longer sleeps or dreams but much rather prefers to stay in reality. She has the heart of a brave one, or is she just a coward? Some may say a scared little girl, but I think she is a sad little girl, because it is not only she that awaits these unwelcomed touches, but the throbbing that has now formed in-between her skinny thighs. This unknown liquid that presents itself when the toucher is present is new to her. I don’t think this little girl brave at all; neither do I think her scared. Watch as she arches her back to aid the toucher. This dance that takes place on top of her skinny frame she knows a little too well. Yes the aftermath on this little girl is saddening. Watching her body fold, trying to get every part of her within her bony arms, as she lets shame rock her back to sleep. When the throbbing and liquid disappears, the scales fall from her eyes and disgust stream down her cheeks.
The smell of fingers rest on the swells on her chest. When the dance is over swells begin to throb, but not like the exciting ones in between her thighs. These throbs are like pain.
What is that feeling she gets when the dance gets faster and she feels everything else racing past? That feeling that makes her want to go faster, the feeling that makes her muscles tense and eyes go funny. She thinks it is like an electric shock, but not one that hurts. She can not explain it, but she knows it makes the throbbing go away, because after the 'shock' she no longer likes the toucher. She cringes away from fingers; the odd damp smell nauseates her. After the 'shock' hate is warmth.
What is that feeling she gets when the dance gets faster and she feels everything else racing past? That feeling that makes her want to go faster, the feeling that makes her muscles tense and eyes go funny. She thinks it is like an electric shock, but not one that hurts. She can not explain it, but she knows it makes the throbbing go away, because after the 'shock' she no longer likes the toucher. She cringes away from fingers; the odd damp smell nauseates her. After the 'shock' hate is warmth.
Little girl’s dream filled with play and laughter, little girl’s reality filled with unwanted touches. But can touches be deemed unwanted if little eager fingers creep under night dresses and follow the damp smell? Can touches be deemed unwanted if little limbs mount on bodies twice their size? Little girl that has kept secrets without threats, little girl that has discovered the ‘shock’, the solution to her throbbing. Can they be deemed unwanted if skinny arms lock around the neck to steady themselves? This is a little girl that is not robbed of sleep but willing swaps it for reality. Can she be called ‘little’?
