It wasn’t even dark
Laughter in the sky
And the blazing sunshine made it all too real.
The birds sang
And the full moon hung low in the sky
A pale shadow visiting from the night
He remembered asking about the man on the moon
And whether he would tan
In the glow of day.
Next door, children were laughing and playing
A shriek of delight
And a call for snacks and maybe candy!
The dust tickles his nose
He needs to scratch it so badly
But his arms are not his own
His arms are not his own
He has completely lost control
And innocence shreds like forgotten gift wrappings
Pain slices through the haze
He has forgotten his place
And now it all comes trickling back with accompanying horror
Screams and tears are silenced
Cotton absorbs more than moisture
Soaking up despair and shame and sharp screaming edges of revolted denial-
The shuddering of his frame
The inexplicable disconcerting break from freedom
Was it just moments ago he’d been clean?
Just moments ago, he’d so easily given trust
To a warm smile hiding filthy lust
Led away from the direct protection of the sun.
He desperately wants to be the moon
Cold and frozen and so far away
No one could touch him there-
Water rushes in torrents from the faucet
He scrubs and scrubs but his body remains rife with soiled fingerprints
Polluted skin and dripping filth -how can he reach?
-How can he even bear to touch?
-How could he ever be clean?
-Would he ever be clean again?
Fury and agony
Dips his head into water
Thrashing and screaming “NO! NO! NO!”
At the rhythmic echo of foul penetration
The once precious mural is gone forever
And only shattered mirrors remain.
Disillusioned and dull, he finds himself rocking
Keening from within the bundle of cloth
How he would welcome the monsters beneath his bed
Welcome with open arms the terror of imagination
Rather than continue to remember the last hour
Why couldn’t it all have ended?
He knows what is right
He knows who should pay
But his voice was silenced
Since that day.
Boys aren’t victims
They don’t get touched
Or violated, that is a woman’s
Burden. It simply isn’t done.
It isn’t an action that could ever occur
Beneath the shining sun.
And so, the heavy mantle
Of injustice crushed his soul
Never again be held, never again to receive comfort
In loving arms, never again to feel
Safe and innocent
The predator has left his marks imprinted on his bones.
Ownership, the body is another object
The mind is another victim
Unkind and unflinching, it refreshes the past
Anew in every nightmare
How long shall he pray?
How long till he can escape?
He awakes on the platform
The rattle of the train
A desperate engine of velocity and locomotion
He shuts his eyes.
And steps into nothing.