Poetry

15 & 22

15 & 22

It’s funny, to this day I STILL cannot remember his last name even though he was the first person I ever slept with…

15 & 22

The funny thing…I cannot even remember his last name

Me…15
Him…22
Me… A child
Him… A grown man
With those grown man hands
And that grown man scent
And I still bathed in Mr. Bubbles because I only knew innocence
And I…I was 15
A child in a woman’s body
Mother Nature knocked early on my door
And in between playing house and Barbie Dolls
I answered the call
She said we had an appointment that I never knew was arriving
Now hips and breasts arise
No more need for playing with dolls
Although I slept with one every night
Because I…I was 15
And he…he was 22
I laid down in that bed a child
He laid down in the bed a man
He should have known better
Even if I didn’t
I didn’t realize what I was giving away
I do not call it rape
But I do now call it an assault of a mind
Too naïve to know that the path I was traveling
I could never return from
There was no enjoyment
At least not for me
Just pain…blood stained sheets…and tears
Because I…I was 15
And he…he was 22
Mentally I am not there
I have been transported to a time before this
When I adorned Mary Jane’s and lopsided pigtails
Now decades later
I still see his face
But his last name eludes me
Because I…I was 15
And he…He was 22

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