Pillow Princess, he called me as I was baptised in red.
Sheets soaked, tears in eyes, lip split.
Making excuses for a man, just a boy, begging for initiative.
Coughing up leftover bulimic vomit, I call it; breakfast.
Blanket around my body, silhouette wrapped in shame, bones feeling coiled.
His hand suddenly in my hand, no, around my neck, no, on my hip, no... where?
"Open up", his words whispered, slithering, chokingly, jokingly...
The boy is unapologetic and his touch unasked for, and unconsented.
A scene reminiscent of a nightmare ...repeated like a daily quest.
Was I too easy, giggly, convenient?
Delicate and fragile is the motive of the day.
Puzzle pieces falling to the ground, He shattered a perfect image.
I love you, now sounds like cohesion.
Human flesh compared to that of a pig, unsurprisingly.
I make no sound, but hide behind the pillow which is now my castle.
When I say can't, all they shout is won't.
Did the snake from the Garden of Eden, lure with tainted lies?
Am I considered, Eve?
My reflection is a photograph, burned into every page of my story.
I am forced to carry heavy boulders, too heavy.
It all seems to be never ending, and forever the smell of burned innocence, lingers.
If I am a princess, I demand a throne, no more necklaces.
If I am a princess, I demand a fairy Godmother and a crown.
But we all know, you do not get a prize for being a participant.