my lover poets

15.

I was so young.
that's what everyone says when I tell them about it.
I was only 15.
but I had never really thought about the age.
I only think about what had been done to my soul.
what he had done.
I still regret telling anyone about it.
all they can say is what a poor soul,
how young I was.
but they look past what had genuinely been done to me.
they seem to be worried about the mental factors.
but the most had been done to my body.
now,
every time another boy tries to touch me,
I never fail to think they will only do the same as the other boy.
every time I look in the mirror I can still see the blood going down my leg.
seeing the bruises marking every part of my skin.
but the scar I see most is the handprint left on my neck.
it feels like I can't breathe...
like he's choking me too harshly again....

I was only 15 they pound in my head....
over and over.
what a poor soul.