I hate the night cos its mysterious and filled with gloom
It shrouds beauty and darkens everything
I hate the night cos that’s when he creeps in
I love him during the day and I hate him at night
He slithers in at night, slithers in to try things he can’t do when it’s bright
During the night I cant sleep; I lie awake just thinking of what’s to come
But I don’t want to think cos all I have is memories; images I’d rather bury forever
He cracks the door open a little while we sleep and calls out my name
Instant goosebumps arise on my skin, chills run down my spine.
I freeze inside
A thousand thoughts run through my head
I wish she’d wake up beside me and see what he is trying to do
She’s young, but I’m desperate; I need help; I need an out
I wonder if I should close my eyes and pretend to sleep; maybe then he’d just leave me alone
But then again, what if then he goes further, tries something he couldn’t when I’m looking straight into his eyes
Completely frozen inside, outside I burn… Its soo hot
He keeps tapping me; I want to scream but I smother it inside
Tears stream down my face endlessly
Please he begs, I don’t know why I do this, we’re family but I just can’t help it
At first, I complain, argue, talk to him about it
I try to understand but I just can’t wrap my mind around it
He begs, pleads almost crying
I don’t want a grown man to cry cos of me; I succumb
My heart is cold, so I think of places- sunny, pretty, warm places where 15 year old girls don’t have to go through this
He touches, feels, rubs, but I’m in my cocoon.
When he achieves what he wants, he thanks me.
There is no sex, no rape, so what is this? I feel desecrated
I hate my body for creating desire in him
On my deepest, darkest days, I wish he’d just go the full nine yards cos then maybe, just maybe they’re notice I am different
Maybe then they’d noticed that I hate myself, I hate myself for letting it happen, hate myself for not having the courage to say anything, hate myself for smiling at him in the morning.
Maybe then they’d notice the high pitched brittle laugh and that I’ve withdrawn into myself to forget the terror of nights past
Maybe then they’d notice how great an actress I am.They’d notice that he is killing my soul, making me afraid of the night