Dear Mr. Rawlington
Dear Mr Rawlington I wish there was a way
I could detach from my lips the words I’d like to say.
But then comes the question of what should come first
Should I start with what’s best? Should I start with what’s worst?
I seem to have begun on rather good terms,
So we shall save all the small talk - it is time to be firm.
I have been waiting to tell you how hard I have tried
To rid myself of the memory of the night when you cried.
Or perhaps it was more the words that you were screaming
It seemed that you loved me, though perhaps I was dreaming.
Because if you had loved me, you’d have treated me right
And not ruined my life for a few moments’ delight.
Now that December has passed, and twenty months more
I no longer resent you – I am no longer sore.
A good friend of mine told me it was called Sexual Abuse
Which meant for your cruel actions there was no excuse.
There is no legal punishment for the places you touched
But for twenty-one months now I have longed for as much.
And although I would love to disfigure and behead you
With thanks to my senses this wish has not come true
My dear Mr Rawlington, I think it is time to say
That this is the reason I left you that day.
By a female age 15