I am not alone and neither are you.

Surrounded by damaged goods, addicts, attention seekers, and the depressed. There’s something about us.

We’re silent.

We speak little of our childhood because there wasn’t much of a child in us. There were games we played that weren’t games at all. Just deviations and renditions of perverted sick motions of elders.

We hate hands and eyes because they stay,

stay on our bodies, our inner thighs, like burns and rashes that never really go away

we are a lot. and most of us speak of it none.

a secret never told but known

there aren’t many I know that were safe from the uncles, family friends, fathers and brothers hands.

Not many were able to escape

think of a coffee shop and look around. In a busy starbucks at least 5 have known terror and speak of it none.

cuffed with their own silence, secretly being torn, pulled apart, shaken up to the biggest secret known

we are a lot

and we are not alone

Photo by Luis Galvez on Unsplash

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