You stole summer from me
on the wrinkled bed
you shared with my mother,
as your eager fingertips explored my depths,
forging new trails into my being
to which you would return, like hidden treasure, again and again.
We mingled our sweat
(yours the passion, mine the wounded)
while summer sounds wafted through open windows
like magic I couldn’t touch;
I writhed beneath the weight of you
for games of hopscotch and Chinese jump rope I had to miss
because of your crude words
and ugly secret I didn’t want to know.
The season of childhood whirled my playmates
forever out of reach.
Their lives revolved innocently, adding to Barbie doll collections
giggling over boys
or boasting of tomboy scabs.
(I couldn’t boast my biggest scab; it ran the length of me
underground,
where only you the hated lover knew of its course.)
You stole summer from me
there beneath your dreary roof
where I groaned on my bed,
begging my fairy godmother
to whisk me away
from the hell of your presence.
Roscoe Davis III
Its very sad. But great writing as usual Beautiful. Havemnt heard anything from you in quite some time
Beautifuldreamer
I’ve been dry as a bone and twice as boring.
janetmary
this is great writing. been thinking so much how to write this stuff without it being cliched or contrived and this is fantastic. thanks xjm
Beautifuldreamer
Thank you, Janetmary, I appreciate you letting me know that you like my writings.
LoriSmaltz
Girl. you are still a beautiful dreamer, dont you ever forget that!!
Beautifuldreamer
Thank you Lori!