Poem: Portrait

A dear friend who understands the incest and sexual harassment themes of Horseshoes and Hand Grenades is allowing me to publish her original poem here on my blog. <3


My brother lifts the blanket off my feet.

His fingers climb my inner thighs.

I am eight. He tells me to be quiet.

I flatten myself against the ceiling.

I see my eyes are shut, that I hold my arms

tight to my sides. His hands pry open

what I want to keep closed. He breathes

like our dog in summer. I will not cry. 


Photo by sankavi on Unsplash

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