A little girl trafficked talks about ghosts;
I understand what she's implying.
They are everywhere.
I don't know for certainwhich ones are good
and which ones are evil
until they are touching me
in that inappropriate way.
Their words are daggers,
their touches that burn,
they are everywhere
in every direction I turn.
They look at me with lust
with eyes that undress,
everywhere I go, potential duress.
The little girl calls them ghosts
but we know ghosts aren't real.
What is real?What do I see?
The nightmares
of what she calls the Living Ghosts
still getting me.
Lord set me free.
~Pamela Renee Schneider
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