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May 2012
Like rock,
and honey,
I pretend that I
am not “I”
until their fists find my face
pry open my mouth
and spit on my tongue
until I praise them
for letting me drink

because I still feel
their grubby hands,
with sweaty palms,
with fat fingers,
applying pressure
anywhere it hurts
the most

they seem to favor
my throat
Janelle Flora Viser
Written by
Janelle Flora Viser
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