His rough hands

The way he handled me

How he pushed me down,

In my half unconscious state.


First my jeans,

Then my shirt

Then those I call undies…


Used, a thing

A toy,

Emotions going through my head


Why me?

Why did he choose me?

Why can’t he be in a cell by now?


4 letters

Taking that which I saved

For a special time…

Just those 4 letters…

Taking that which was saved

This poem is about: 
Our world


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741