I was only eight years old.

You were older and you knew better.

At this age I should not have to worry about something like this happening.

At first I thought it was a game but then it turned sinister. 

Your forceful hands made my stomach queasy,

Your eyes made me fear for the worst,

And that anxious feeling and fear of what was about to happen crept up on me.

I kept telling you to stop but for some reason you did not understand.

After what happened,

You acted as if it was not a big deal.

As days went by I did not know how to talk about it.

Months went by, 

And I decided to push that experience so far back,

to the point where the sun could not even reach it.

Even till this day I have only told a few.

Now that I am older I wish I would have gone to someone,

But at that age I was naive and I was scared of sounding outrageous.

I was afraid.

Afraid of my mother’s tears,

Afraid of seeing my father’s reaction of his fears coming true,

And afraid of seeing the pain in my grandmother’s eyes.

Both my grandmother and mother went through abuse.

Seeing them overcome abuse inspired me and pushed me to push past my fears.

Throughout all these years my inspiration came from them.

They inspired me to speak up.

They inspired me to stand up for myself

They inspired me to seek help.

They inspired me to forgive.

In the end I just pray that he understands what he did was wrong,

I pray that he learns how to respect a person when they say no, 

And lastly I pray that he never does this to anyone else.