I peer through the holes in the sheets, I poke my finger through, wiggle my thumb, wonder when we’ll all be done.
The places I reside in: Group therapy and recovery from sexual assault
When I think of my life, it splits into two sections divided by a thick line, a line made up of the hands of men who turned my life and me inside out: the before and after I was sexually assaulted.
Taboo
Forks scrape against plates and the word just hangs there Dripping.
When I tell you my sister is abusive
Taking sibling abuse seriously
The quiet vulnerability of ‘thank u, next’
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Misread
A poem about sexual assault, by a former best friend.
I don’t see you coming
A poem about the relationship between mental health problems and the self