In the small hours
The mocking whispers of a Judas past, becomes louder
The ache that in the shadow lies
Crawls out from behind her eyes
The sting of a stolen innocence
Forcefully taken before it was pubescent
Wouldn’t lie still, roams her recollection
As would a ghost in a haunted mansion
While the world sleeps, her thoughts lay in ruin
Pieces forgotten, on the floor strewn
The burden of their denigrating stares
She’s borne alone for many years
How come
Nobody thought to look beyond
Her beautiful pre-pubertal eye lids
To see a little girl locked away in frightened silence
In the small hours
I feel the pain of this bleeding flower
I mourn the little girl she was
But I’m also glad for the grown woman she’s become
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