You Always Let Him Touch You

You always wanted to be a pirate.
The scrapes on your knees
from falling off of your bike
are worse now than ever.
You always raised the flag higher.
It's flapping in the garden
where you used to play,
but it's been worn out.
You always kept your head up.
The dirt stains streaked
across your rosy cheeks
irritate your dry eyes.
You always saw the good in me.
Your strong and pale hands
have now fallen to your sides,
limp, cut, and broken.
You always let him hurt you.
Your smile that shined
is quivering in self-pity
and veils a dread.
Why did you let him do it, pirate?
Take off your eyepatch.
The bruise hurts to touch,
so why do you let him
touch you?