copyright Summer 1998
I saw a little girl one night.
I saw her pretty eyes and her pretty smile.
I saw the horror in her eyes.
The horror from her violated rights.
I understood the pain she went through
- or at least, I thought I did.
But in the midst of her privacy's curfew
The pain was burried deep within.
I wish I could tell her she did nothing wrong
And she had no reason to be blamed.
I wish I could tell her not to hurt herself
For something someone else did.
"Little girl! ... little girl!..." I wispered from my heart.
But she couldn't hear me. She was torn apart.
"No, please No! Don't hurt yourself so!"
But what could one do when she wanted to go.
To flee her pain, she turned to the street.
She never knew help was at her feet.
Self destruction - to help her forget who she is
Because she couldn't face again what was done by him.
I don't know if it would help her to know
She's not the only one
That there are others - little girls
Who have survived and "gone on".
How could I tell her? How could I even try?
How could she believe anything is not a lie?
The day will come when she'll know she's not the one to blame.
And that day: no more tears of guilt and shame.
But until that day my heart is completely destroyed
As it is filled by this incomprehensible void.
Because I know that, as a little girl, she was used.
That somewhere, somehow, she was sexually abused.
By Ryan Kazemi