The Room. - Poem by Lorena Walker
There is a room. It is not here, nor there but everywhere. Well, at least I feel as if it so. It is here that I became new. In my own house, by the hands of my own. The blood I shed, was his too. Outside the door lies my innocence. I race for that door but he keeps pulling my pants-pulling them down. The loss of innocence is a sacred secret to be kept. In between of becoming an adult and my legs, I am too young for this loss. Each caress revolts my stomach and he looks at me and I know- this is where I will die. Finally I leave...but I am still lying there. There is no escape.
Comments about The Room. by Lorena Walker
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye