GROWN -a poem

my picker broke at age 13

a GROWN man loved me -just a teen

he sang me love songs on the phone

while he pretended I was GROWN

two years later through a friend

virginity came to an end

New Year’s eve and pink champagne

forced it on me, gave me pain

four weeks later I’m bewildered

baby boy or girl -we killed it

sterile rooms and sterile halls

after making just one call

for a week the pain remained

our “relationship” was strained

filling me with vengeful thoughts

of how I’ll hurt him, not get caught

three boys later feeling low

having dealt a crushing blow

I’m no longer only HIS

still he wouldn’t let me go

my revenge it tasted fine

even though I crossed MY line

tell him I’m not property

keep your GROWN hands off of me

though I see that you’re repenting

at this age there’s no consenting

people say it’s just plain wrong but

give me whiskey, or a bong

and I just might do anything

you shut my mouth,”don’t say a thing”

and if I’d wait around for you

you promised me a wedding too

college started I remember

leaving you in that September

broke the lock, escaped my cage

saw you fly into a rage

though I’d finally broken free

I’m scarred for all eternity

seeking peace while waging war

everyone’s a predator

see your eyes in others’ faces

finding you in other spaces

wonder why you’re following me

when I asked you to let me be

a part of my life you remain

just like a bloodstain on my brain

this trauma I must learn to own

‘cause people say that I am GROWN

(C) Copyright -Stacey M. Patterson (Mo) and MugglestonesAndMayhem. All rights reserved.

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