She was a child
Happy with her world
Watching butterflies, wondering how they fly
And thinking she’ll grow up and touch the blue, blue sky.

A small thing she was,
Tiny were her steps,
Fell she many a times
And helped up by herself.

Then, one day, he came and offered her his hand
She smiled at him and took his helping hand.
He came every day after that
His hand, at first, touched only her hand
But slowly, it moved up her arm and down the chest
Up her legs and around the breast

He pinched her and said it’s a game
Played by two- that’s only them
He said keep it secret or it won’t be fun
And she thought him her friend, so she kept mum

For a long a time, it went on so
Not one bit, did she like it though
For it hurt in places it never should
And it bled in places it never would

Bruised and battered, she crouched in her bed each night
Hurting and crying and still silent and still quiet
But, one day she woke up, unable to walk
Unable to cry, unable to talk
And that day, she decided, no more can she stand
She shut the door and locked her stance

He came that night like he did every other,
But, this time he met not a girl, but a lock and a door
First night- he knocked quietly and called out to her sweetly
Second night- he banged on the wood and called her no good
Third night- he abused the door and the girl and every other thing in the world
Fourth night- was quiet, for he didn’t turn up at all.

Days and days went by, before a peaceful slumber came
Nights and nights past by, before the nightmares packed their game
It was a small beginning, but a beginning nonetheless
Of an innocence peeping through the mess

For a small thing, she was
And her steps were tiny
But she began to wonder again how the butterflies fly
And how she’ll grow up and touch the blue, blue sky…



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