December 15, 2011
By Anonymous

She is the kind of broken
That only looks whole
has chunks missing in the shape of some mans wandering hand
She got tattoos to claim a body they told her she didn’t deserve
Stuck white powders up her nose trying to burn away his smell
Brought through a parade of many for the purpose of forgetting
Tried her hardest to get as far from one as she could
She decided ‘daddy’ was a dirty word
Convinced herself at seven that she was a bird
she tried to fly away for good at fourteen
but courts come with strings and she would be no ones puppet
Sometimes she has nightmares
Decides the monsters in the closet are a haunted house and she moves her bed
The only ghost around here lives in her head
He only has power over little girls and somehow she couldn’t force herself to grow up
so they get bigger
a wall between her and the monster she survived
But she
She was never meant to play his eden
just a candle herself he melted her
Now she watches little girls
and whispers to the one growing in her
that they are birds with wings too strong to ever be caught

The author's comments:
This piece was written for my best friend a few days after she told me she was pregnant.

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.


MacMillan Books

Aspiring Writer? Take Our Online Course!