He walked home alone,
Pulling out his belt.
He stopped at his front door,
For his father's disappointed face.
He ushered him inside,
He handed him his belt,
And with one quick swipe
To his knees he fell.
He walked to his room,
Tears in his eyes.
He is eight,
And thinks it's hus fault.
He wipes his tears,
Walks to his little sister's room.
He holds her tight,
Swearing to protect her.
She must never feel this way,
Because grown up, a year later,
He knew that that look wasn't disappointment.
It was hate.
Growing up. Not growing old.
She was walking in an alleyway,
It was deserted and she was alone.
She felt someone following her,
And quickened her pace, not quite sure.
A man caught up to her,
And asked her for her name.
When she refused to give it to her,
He grabbed her by the arm.
She opened her mouth to scream,
But was stopped by lips pressing against hers.
She struggled to be free from his grip,
But a thirty year old man is strong.
He robbed her of her innocence
And stripped her of her youth.
She grew up quite young,
For rape isn't easy for a seven year old.
Growing up is not growing old.
Growing up. Not growing old.
