stolen

i am curled inside beaten skin

a kiss stolen at fourteen

the thief was like a father

but he didn’t wear a white collar

his water was not holy

yet he was holy to those who believed his lies

his charismatic lies

i lost the first touch of youthful lips

“have you ever kissed a boy?” he asked

“no,” i said.

i heard the no echo through me

he didn’t

then his lips

i don’t remember the sensation

except

the kiss made me invisible

i faded away into my beaten skin

dark and lightless

beaten by a kiss that belonged

to the boy of my choice and youth

i am stolen

© zaji, 2016