Stolen Innocence

I hear him fiddle with the door The creaking of the passage floor As he finds his way once more I don't know what's for me in store. I hear his footsteps in my room Please God, it is too soon I had no time to escape Every time I am too late. His hands are impatient as he roves Pulling away the barrier of my clothes Taking what he needs from me Sexual pleasure setting him free. I've smelled the alcohol on his breath Making me feel dirty, like death Tears are dripping down my face Wishing that I was somewhere safe. As he turns to leave my room I promise myself that someday soon I will stop what's making me so sad Hugging myself I whisper, 'Good night, Dad!' Written : 31.5.2007