Every Seven Years

There’s this saying: Every seven years, every cell in your body is replaced.

In three years I will have a body that was never touched by you:

or those you chose to play into your game of bought and sold. 

People like you see children as a pot of gold, but once we are too old,

we are taunted with your heartless opinions

It’s been exactly four years and I will always remember

the violation that they spend hundreds and millions.

“Which one is this? Number five or six?”

Right before I turned six, my life became men on rotation.

You’d always say “honey, show some appreciation.”

“Do you think anyone would put up with you just like I do?”

Seven years old I was labeled your “working girl”

a saying that makes me want to hurl.

Don’t forget to check the scale,

this pimp really wants his sales. 

I turned eight and I guess you really had to set me straight. 

This first brand really started to burn,

I understand this is all a part of “gods plan”

I was nine and holy fucking shit I started to hate this man.

Ten: only looking for some light, but the cops never came because it was never their fight.

The cops never came but everyone else sure fucking did.

How can you do this to a kid? 

Eleven and I just want to go to heaven.

This was my normal and you didn’t care about being moral.

You continue to remind me this is God’s plan as you hurt me with that second brand.

At twelve you said, “some guy wants to win you” as if a child is a prize to be won. 

“Aviana, what the hell have you done?”

I reached out because I deserved to be protected,

but in the end, I was only rejected. 

Thirteen girls were expected,

It was an ugly scene,

but at least you had me look clean. 

I was selected and met with something being injected. 

Fourteen and I’m stuck underneath.

I feel like I can no longer breathe.

“Good luck,”  the other girls said as I sat on that wet bed.

Little did I know in a year everything would change. 

Fifteen and I was no longer trapped in your rage

even though my body still felt like a cage.

This life is still haunted and all of these memories are unwanted.

No need to fear, because every inch of you stays planted.

Stubborn seeds mixed with a bag that definitely isn’t weed.

Sixteen is supposed to be so sweet,

but I can’t give up the drugs so I give up on life. 

It’s hard knowing you still have the disease of conceit,

and still forcing your slab of meat.

I’m sitting here with seventeen girls who also can’t get back up on their feet.

My nose filled with powder and it stopped your memories from becoming louder.

All of these behaviors went misunderstood.

My childhood went to waste, and soon, all cells in my body will be replaced.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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