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Jul 2018
**** the twin-size mattress,
that cheap indigo color.
Where my best friendโ€™s legs,
her hands and knees,
were entangled in struggle.

**** his barbell body
heavy and cold to the touch.
She had been hunted  
by someone that she trusted.

**** the world that assumed  
she was kissed. Not gripped,
nor crushed under his pressing force.

**** the cinder block walls  
of that college dormitory,
where she stared and refused
to sleep in her own bed
After that night.

**** the catchy tune of breath
rolling over teeth  
that play in her head.
**** her father. He would say
he doesnโ€™t approve of her *******.

So, she chose to stay quiet.
Forgettably quiet.
Brooke White
Written by
Brooke White  21/F/New York
(21/F/New York)   
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