From the age of five,
I have had person after person
Take my body
And do what they’d like with it.

Telling me to keep quiet,
That it’ll all be over soon.
Telling me to keep it our little secret,
That this was something special.
Telling me that they were doing me a favor,
And that I’d thank them later.

Permission was never asked for,
Nor was it ever given.
These things have caused my body
To feel like a prison.

It takes at least both of my hands,
And most of my memory
To recount what my life has been.