Little Bird Flies Wide

The buzzard cries as it attempts a fandango, and my eyes gaze up at the cotton candy clouds - a skyscraper made for birds, living free.

What happened to me then? I try to stay on the sunny side of the street or else the dark will come for me, and the intrusions will enter an already cluttered mind; emotions of the hurt I'll pick up too.

I'm remembering the sweet scent of the lavender prettily plotted in the large planters beside the front door.

One day my mind was tested by the manly figure that stood over my garden gate along the railway line in Pokesdown. He was blowing up a bubble gum balloon, or so I thought until my brother later told me it was a condom. What was that I thought? After all I was only four years old.

Blackness has weaved its way around me ever since but I'm still on the sunny side of the street. It did not stop until I was sixteen: the headmaster at shool and the light spanking of an innocent bottom two years later, to the open exhibitionist that revealed himself to my sister, and I. To the suited man in the underpass that decided to squeeze and pull at my ampleness at the age of fourteen, and to the maths teacher that placed a cold, slow hand on a developing behind.

I am a thinker, deep in the knowledge that others are suffering too, their vulnerability preyed upon, an innocence broken, time, and time again, the oversexualization of our girls is seen, and heard. The retail businesses supplying the clothes that barely cover underdeveloped bodies to the netflix sensations that widen gullible eyes. To those without voice, strength, confusion, disgust, distrust, and helplessness. I pray for the day when my images fade, and when the animals and children run free.

Author Notes: This is a true story about my encounters with paedophiles, my empathy towards things, and how I have used it to help others, campaigning for children and animal rights.

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