Poem: How Many Do I Need To Count

1, 2, 3 sheepHow many do I need to count?Before I am able to sleepOr will I have to recountEvery memory and every nightI was stuck between fight and flightMy eyes are closedMy body frozeMy skin fills with goosebumpsAs my mind remembers the thumpsOf my own heartbeat in my earsAnticipating his hand as it nearsUnder the coversMy skin shuddersMy body frozenIt was me that was chosenParaded like a trophyI wish it wasn’t meBut how can I stop a hand that wants to touchEven when it gets too muchHe was a man in a position of trustPossessed by a sick kind of lustFor a child’s innocenceBut even that didn’t make a differenceTo the hands that stole a childhoodAnd has plagued an adulthoodTo the hands that new what they were doingAs it was a childs clothes they were undoing1, 2, 3 sheepHow many do I need to count?Before I am able to sleep