True Story

True Story


Homeless

Alone

No streets paved with Gold.

A frightened young child, barely Fifteen years old.

A voice in the darkness offers some hope, a chance of salvation, hot water and soap

No Samaritan he, just a predatory beast, in a drugged drunken encounter on me he would feast.

Beaten and bloodied, a child no more.

I reach for the money he’s thrown on the floor.

A victim of rape and still just a teen, I scrubbed at my body but never felt clean.

A survivor I am at least I’m still here; living each day consumed by my shame and fear.

© Matthew Earl