They come at night,
In the morning,
Or whenever it suits them best.
Dressed in street clothes,
Formal clothes,
Casual clothes,
And sometimes even,
long cloaks that touch the ground.
They come unannounced,
Through my doors,
Through the streets,
Up the stairs,
Around the corner,
And to my bedroom where I sleep.
And to the place where I just so happen
To be at that time.
They grab me before it's too late to run.
They hold me down.
Pressing my face into the pillows,
Into the street gravel.
I find it hard to fight back,
Fight for myself.
As though I am entirely paralyzed.
Helpless.
Powerless.
I could scream,
I do scream,
But my guardian would not hear me,
But no one hears me
In the empty street.
I don't get a good look at their faces
Just their hands-
Many of them;
As they start taking away my clothes,
And touching me…
Sticking their hands up my shirt,
Down my pants;
Having managed so easily to undo the buckle
On my belt and slid it through the loops.
I feel hands and fingers where they shouldn't be.
Wet lips kiss mine
And tongues slide past my teeth
And down my throat;
To which, I would happily bite them off
If I had a choice.
My shirt comes off,
And so do my jeans.
They flip me onto my stomach,
Push me onto my back,
And start what they came to do;
With my eyes having nothing to stare at
But the pure grey sky,
And the pictures of my parents on the nightstand.
I do not cry.
I can not cry.
I am forced to endure their merciless
And repetitive torment and abuse
Of child rape and assault.
My face turning a deep red from pain and humiliation.
And when it's finally over,
They flip me over,
And let me sit up
In front of their shameless selves.
I stare into them with
Anger
Pain
And hate.
I stare into those who have come.
They are Faceless.