Writing

Mrs. Craywood

her curls needed cutting

instead she dyed them black

she could have washed her face

but she brushed on dark eye shadow

to hide her eyes

she used to think they were

pretty.

I will kneel on broken glass as 

my blood stains the pearly sheen so that 

you will see I've resorted to my last option: begging 

before you (as a woman should be) to rip 

Democracy is fragile as a house of cards with many, many layers

Many, many pieces

Many, many things that could go wrong

The slightest breath, enough to bring the whole thing crumbling

I've heard that hope is a Vicious thing 

It claws its way up from the soil of Contempt and Despair 

It brings with it the Memories of a past life and the Longing for a future

my rights are in a chokehold,

gasping for the air they once were able to breathe in deep.

the air that made them feel so free,

like a bird in the great open sky,

or a puppy full of sweet little dreams.

your trauma is valid even if,

you cannot remember it properly.

your trauma is valid even if,

it has been years since it has happened.

your trauma is valid even if,