Memorial of a Forgotten Girl.

My childhood wastes away
through holes that I have
picked in my head, thoughts
meant to be lovely are soon
tainted by the physically desired.

Through the lies and pain of
my past, I slice apart my photographic
memory, like some over-priced device in a cubicle.

There are spaces, there are corners,
and most of all; there are regrets.

I regret fantasizing about that older
man when I was ten, I regret placing
my young little eyes on the anamilistic 
fucking of the men and women on the internet.

The cheap, over-exaggerated screams
and heels made it all the more addictive.

I will admit my body began to stir, it
wanted what that whore got that day.
And so my body was left to wonder, and
grow on it's own accord.

And so, the little girl with her eyelids
peeled back to view the occupational
hazards of lust, wanted it more than a
Barbie doll.

None of that Prince Charming shit for
me, I wanted to fuck someone and
learn to scream and moan like those
blond harlots on the screen.

And what was a girl like me meant to
become? I became someone who found
delight and pleasure within the vile
and seductive parts of life.

I've kept my body pure but as for my
mind, the poor bastard stirs through
filth that even I sometimes cringe at.

We are left now with a memorial for a
forgotten girl, she was once made of
butterflies and bubble-gum, but now
her heart lies in her little teddy bear
panties.

Fifteen now, I have left my plastic tiara in the
dust and replaced it with lipstick and tits.

I will chastise myself day to day for what
I do and have done.





But will I ever really be sorry?