When I became a teen,

the sky opened up

revealing a new world

of excitement and danger.

Boys chased after me.

They wanted to kiss me,

touch my breasts

and pull my panties down.

I learned to tighten up

my young shoulders

poised for retreat.

I had to run fast, talk fast,

and push my way out

of clutching hands.

My shapely body

assumed a defensive posture,

warding off the fiery glow

of heated gonads.

My resolute walking

squelched any hint of response

to the lust that surrounded me.

Traumatized like a warrior

in combat, my feet no longer

touched the ground.

My face did the walking for me.