my lids are heavy
held down by pain and dried blood
I can feel the ground
my fingers wet
the smell of a public toilet
it's dark
I feel like I've just lost my mind
Two days later I'm pressed against hot benches
light blaring down on my
now red
bare chest
I know I can't move
"Sit Down!"
if I stretch my legs
just for a second
I could be in here the entire day
Five years later
sewing in thick gloves that don't fit my once feminine hands
I can see past the windows that can't open
men walking in the grass
gray clothes
gray hair
walking together as if they were chained
or had been
for far too long
One year later
the walls laugh at me
their pathetic attempts at a
***** feel"*
I see my friend in the corner of the room
I'd missed her
I start walking towards her
and notice her chin caked in spit
and her eyes glazed over
with emptiness
will I ever be free
will I ever convince them
will I ever run again
will he ever find me
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 4:04 PM UTC
my lids are heavy
held down by pain and dried blood
I can feel the ground
my fingers wet
the smell of a public toilet
it's dark
I feel like I've just lost my mind
Two days later I'm pressed against hot benches
light blaring down on my
now red
bare chest
I know I can't move
"Sit Down!"
if I stretch my legs
just for a second
I could be in here the entire day
Five years later
sewing in thick gloves that don't fit my once feminine hands
I can see past the windows that can't open
men walking in the grass
gray clothes
gray hair
walking together as if they were chained
or had been
for far too long
One year later
the walls laugh at me
their pathetic attempts at a
***** feel"*
I see my friend in the corner of the room
I'd missed her
I start walking towards her
and notice her chin caked in spit
and her eyes glazed over
with emptiness
will I ever be free
will I ever convince them
will I ever run again
will he ever find me
Clara Cartwright, 1929-1931
