Hide me within your walls so I won’t be seen stuff my mouth with spare fabric and bind me so I can’t move / prove your Goddamn point. Take away my sight
carve out my eyes until all you can see is the space behind them and replace them with glass shards that sparkle and pop and gleam and never hear me / scream. Reach your hand down my throat and push the scraps down with it until you’ve clogged the cavity within my ribcage / stage me stuffed in the front yard. And when little girls walk past make me your warning (tell them that this is what they have to be / and will never be / andwillseeinthemirrorinthedark—) your goal / my soul not in sight while I rage against the dying the dying of my light. // Charlotte Brookins is an Iowa City-based writer who has loved both reading and writing for as long as she's been able to do either. She is an avid creator of all genres, but when she's not writing or reading, you can find her spending time with her loved ones or getting lost in the woods. Comments are closed.
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