Take Me Home (Original Poems)

Play - Poem 91

Why do they play and prod?

Making it feel as though there are fingers all over your skin.

Forcing you to keep your head down,

Mouth shut.

The pulling of your hair is only a game to them.

Making you squirm and squeal is their pleasure.

Your discomfort makes them grin.

Pushing me against the wall,

My arms too weak to push back.

Pressuring their heated body to mine,

As my raspy voice falls and rises with my strength.

They're stronger and I begin to shake as a beg them to stop.

The hot tears roll down my face.

I shut my eyes as they rip at my clothing.

I wake with a start and run to the bathroom.

I empty my stomach into the toilet.

That's all it seems to be used for anymore.

The tears rush down my face, only to bring back the hands.

Flinching at the wind,

The nightmares will even haunt me in the light.

Even when my other demons hide away, these come out to play with me.