The Unpainted Clapboard House

We had moved six times in my seven years Always some apprehension on my part At this new school, red-necked bullies to fear Only I did not know about their art Oh! I was soon to find out what they do___ It was enough to make a grown man steam It changed my life and made me fill with blue Those bullies hurt me and tore-up my dreams He would get on the bus, sit behind me Then he would reach over the seat and touch Not a gentle loving touch of friendship_see But of rape, violence that hurt so much The house was unpainted clapboard so bare Inside it became a home because of love And I had moved there without adult cares Gallons of white paint put on with clean gloves Could not heal the harm from one rapist boy Who thought this new girl was his new toy? We had always rented, but someone that my father knew offered to loan him the money to buy this small farm. We were dirt poor but finally if we could pay the man back, we would own a place that we could call our own. We did pay for it and lived there about four years. Maybe I should say my parents paid. I lacked the language to tell my parents or teachers what was happening. One day he came on the bus and told me he was going to kiss me. I told him come ahead. When he leaned over the seat, I grabbed his cheek with my teeth and kept on biting and biting. He did not bother me anymore. I know with some people; they would have kept on and would have done even more but that stopped him. It did not heal what had happened to me though.