Hands

I don't really know. If you read this great, if not then I hope you'll never know.

Hands

Fingers laced around every curve,

Sensational tingling of nerves. 

Nothing but the scared little girl,

Her innocence once a sweet pearl. 

But only he had ever learned before,

She might not be left on the floor. 

Her memory vivid and true,

Many will ask her, he is who?

Not asking if she is alright,

Still feeling his hands grasp tight, 

Around her limbs, scarred and bruised, 

Her body now labeled as used. 

The feelings are so harsh and rough. 

Grabbing, squeezing, tightening, stuff. 

Breath drawn tight unsure if it might

Ever stop momentarily.

And when it would the sigh after would die,

The hand would tighten, eye would cry,

And over it went, again and again, 

Until it stopped, here is the men. 

Boys truly, not caring for us.

The weaker, not making a fuss. 

Scared daily for ourselves sadly. 

Maybe time will change dramatically.