Everyone

When you touch me,

it feels like the universe folds in on itself,

squeezing everything into this one, tender moment.

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The morning is foggy

A fog that opens memory

That calls me into the mystery

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In the quiet of what used to be lively chats,

Life’s stories murmured and mingled with tunes,

Now lost in the emptiness of absence and betrayal,

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By Crystal Ann

The quiet in our bedroom is a third person now,

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She screamed in the silence, heart split in two,

Wounds he ignored, though he once swore them true.

Her hands begged for shelter, her voice shook the air,

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My name is Vera, I’m 93.

Let me tell you about me,

I have this thing it’s in my brain,

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I am sick. not physically though. I am sick in my head. I am sick of the world. I am sick of people thinking that I am just a toy to play with or just someone that they can use like a plastic bag and

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He made me feel like a burden

But to you I’m a king

I don’t understand

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My cry for help was heard for no reason,

Just a quiet call - my life’s small beacon.

No one could hear, no one could see

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As a child I was scared of someone because I had been hurt

I wanted my specific order

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