She was only a thirteen year old girl
sitting by herself
the boys hadn't stopped touching
instead they'd made it a game.
Using her bag as a barrier
her novel as a shield
she would sit by herself
praying for a bus ride
without trouble
"Please just give me one week of peace"
Today it was only one,
she felt a sick sense of relief at this fact
having being trapped by four, five
more boys at a time
used as some sick toy
theirs to use and touch and pat
He thought he was smart this day
pretending to be asleep
angrily hitting her when she pushed him away
when in his 'sleep'
his hand reached
for something to play
Filth dribbled out of his mouth
almost as sickening as his touch
she looks pleading for help
but away eyes are turned
the other boys waiting for their turn
the girls scared to be next.
Part two of a four
YOU ARE READING
A world unlike your own
PuisiNot poetry, just words. My world is different to yours. Here's a slither of it. Come find me Best rankings: #1 in Poembook #1 in Therapeutic #3 in Thoughts #29 in Poetry
