Original photograph by Julie N.
Guilty No More
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Creative Expression
Our Father
This poem contains content that some may find offensive. I don’t want to be your hero. I was a child.I took a dozen lashes.Then stood up and said, “Fuck you.” I don’t want to be your hero. A heavy wet blanket of pain was draped over this boy’s body.From the outside he...
Don’t Talk. Don’t Feel.
I feel it and I am going to talk about it. Bedford Stuyvesant, Brooklyn - “Bed Stuy” Bed Stuy is beating up your mother and asking you, “What are you going to do about it, punk?” Bed Stuy is looking outside onto the street and in between patches of icy, crunching...
I Don’t Remember
Trigger warning. This poem contains a traumatic event. I don’t rememberthe first three years of my life.But my gut remembers.My heart knows the truth. Frozen terror within.Terrified of daddy-Monster,the volcano in my home.I must hide from him, but I can’t. One simple...
Petty Retaliation
I was fourteenand sick of daddy-Monster’s violence.I did not know who I was.I had heard too many lies. Too many beatings.Too many slaps across the face.Too many unpredictable eruptions.Too much terror. Too much ridicule.Too many disparaging comments.Too many hostile...