The Room. Poem by Lorena Walker

There is a room. It is not here, nor there but everywhere. Well, at least I feel as if it so. It is here that I became new. In my own house, by the hands of my own. The blood I shed, was his too. Outside the door lies my innocence. I race for that door but he keeps pulling my pants-pulling them down. The loss of innocence is a sacred secret to be kept. In between of becoming an adult and my legs, I am too young for this loss. Each caress revolts my stomach and he looks at me and I know- this is where I will die. Finally I leave...but I am still lying there. There is no escape.