Him.

My body had no longer belonged to me and at 5 years old I had learned to grow up.

I carry my body around like a casket and let it be used when it's needed only to then bury it six feet under my sheets.

This body does not belong, and I am nothing more than an item subjected to be used then thrown out after someone is done.

These monsters still lurk around in my head. I still have panic attacks in my sleep, but I have learned to let them go unnoticed. 

I am still a little person lost in a big big world, but sadly I have let my voice go silent.

Underneath this deep, deep pain is still the little boy trapped in her body with his hands on her.

I am now afraid of men, but this body does not belong to me anymore. 

It belongs to him.