A Candle for Me

A Candle for Me

“I don’t create poetry, I create myself. For me, my poems are a way to me”. Edith SodergranIn grade five I wrote my first poemcalled, “Winter"in a little, red schoolhouseon a little, small deskwith my little, small handThe teacher promised to publish it.I think she...

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But Somone Has It Worse

But Somone Has It Worse

How often I have heardthat someone has it worse.With eight billion people,this statement is certainly true.Yet this truth denies my truth –that my trauma is real –that my health was endangered –that my sanity was at risk.I grew up with domestic violence.Others have...

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My Painting

My Painting

If I were to paint a picture, would it be with paint or mud? I am not an artist, so I know it wouldn’t look realistic no matter what tools are used. Would I finger paint or use brushes? What would make my inner child most happy? I was often taught how to paint the...

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To Scream the Unscreamable Scream

To Scream the Unscreamable Scream

Oh, for lungs to scream a scream that would fully express my grief, that would shake the earth,that would crumble the hillside in front of me. My first memory of daddy-Monster:I am three years old.I receive his fists as I lie in bed.He yells, “It’s your...

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Sisters

two sisters, home alonemom working as a teacherdad is a ghost, not aroundmom workingthe fighting, the tearsdad is a ghost, not aroundlocking herself in our mom's roomthe fighting, the tearsno way to call momlocking herself in our mom's roomi am helpless,...

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