I Had A Blue House

I am afraid of footsteps. Behind my back.

Footsteps which are walking in my direction – does not matter if its broad daylight or narrow light night.

Isn't it weird?

With every footstep approaching me, 

my mind keeps on 

going back to the days

when my blue crayon dwarfed

too soon and 

I couldn't hold it properly. 

He would grab me from behind 

and taught me how to color

with a broken and perishing crayon.

My colouring speed increased 

according to the speed with which 

my puberty stricken breasts were rubbed

- diminutive and motionless.

He told me that this is a game where

I could only win if I didn't stop colouring 

and kept my mouth shut. 

I, sometimes, coloured the houses blue - 

out of nervousness and fear. 

As if the colour of the sky

splashed -

Painting everything blue

Punishment? 

No punishment! 

He loved me. 

Of course, he did. 

He would caress the 

contours of my face and 

force his saliva 

into my mouth. 

My lips felt like kneaded dough.

I didn't like kissing him though. 

His moustache hurt. 

So does my panic when he 

rubbed his manhood against my back. 

I vaguely remember the day 

when he first touched me. 

I was wearing a shirt and a short frill skirt. 

Orange, red, maroon and pink 

Bobby prints on a beige base.

That was my first water color class and 

I was ready with all the paint bottles, 

brushes

and 

white page copy. 

After we finished drawing, 

he told me I will face trouble 

while colouring because my sitting angle 

wasn't correct.

I told him repeatedly that I was comfortable. 

But he cared for me a lot. 

He wanted my drawings to be the best. 

He kept on suggesting me 

how to hold the brush, 

how to use the palette, 

how to paint leaves on a sunny day -

Keeping in mind about the shades of leaves

when sunlight kissed them - 

Emerald, Shamrock, Parakeet, Lime. 

I wasn't sure how to paint the leaves, 

about the proportion of color and water.

He made me understood that without 

correct sitting position, I can't paint. 

So he kept one hand on my shoulder, 

other hand at my thigh and

turned me clockwise. 

A bit. 

As I adjusted myself

in the new position, 

his fingers slightly penetrated 

my growing womanhood. 

I gave him a detested look. 

He told me this is important 

and defying him won't help me 

learn painting. 

I paint my words in blue now.