"kind"

she emulated a woman's structure
waist, small
hips, thick
yet her mind captured a child
was more girl
and less chick.
she had just turned eleven
didn't even finish fifth grade
but she had to pay
for the body her mother had made.
the men
their lids widened
as their eyes traced her figure
but she knows this routine by now
no
she's no longer unfamiliar.
they approach without caution
knowing she has no control
they can force her to play along,
the younger Juliet
to their older Romeo.
the men
they are charming
and master manipulators
they tug at her waist
to distract her
from their further slipping fingers.
the men
they touch parts of her body
that are supposed to be private
and her resistance is part
of the game
the fuel that drives it.
she's an eleven year old virgin
and with this in their mind,
they caress her more gently
and keep their touches more kind.

or at least as "kind" as molestation can be.

she wonders what appeals to them
her body that's curvy,
or is it the fact that she's young
and they're just pervy?
regardless
their eyes
continue to pierce her like lasers
destructing her worth
cutting at her skin
just like razors.
the men
they damaged her
she still winces in the mirror
when she tries to find herself
in the image that appears
no longer clearer.
she didn't know love
so she yearned in her heart
to feel the warmth that she heard of
piece by piece
part by part.
they took away her childhood
along with her hopes and dreams
all due to their blood-hungry
pubescent affinity.