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Mark Boschi Apr 3
i know him too well —
the sweaty palms
the wobbly knees
the trembling voice

he sits with me in therapy
scowls at me, clawing his nails into my arms
growls through gritted teeth:
“quit talking about me.”
and the floor tilts underneath.

i do not flinch/shrink/cower;
i remain firm/secure/composed
because now,
my tongue is an ammunition
i am no longer afraid to exhaust.
Day #4 of Escapril, prompt: anxiety.
ollie Feb 5
No one shares seats on the bus
Not since fourth grade
And I’m still trying to figure out if it’s because we want the room to ourselves
Or because too many of us still flinch when someone slides in next to us
It happened in the summer between fourth and fifth grade
And whatever it is, we don’t know
But no one shares seats on the bus
when i was in the fifth grade, it came out that a girl two grades below mine had been ***** by a boy in sixth grade. no one has shared seats on the bus since, even though this boy has long since been arrested since i reported him after i overheard him saying he had more planned for her the next year. that’s just the way it’s come to be
Fox Friend Dec 2017
i hate that i flinch
you dont understand
laughter fills your eyes
when i jump at everything
i laugh with you because
im trying to hide the fact
that my throat is closing
my heart is racing
shaking hands are all i know
you say its cute
i want to cry
i cant escape the hurt
Murredith Apr 2017
Realisations of common knowledge lurk around us like shadows in the darkness.

Don’t close your eyes. Don’t turn around. Don’t turn a corner too quickly. It’s just the wind. It’s not the same car. It’s too big of a city to find you.

Dear authorities, what are you doing to help?

People from generations before mine have raised their children to be hateful. They have taught them that if they don’t feel like respecting people, they shouldn’t and won’t. I’m sure you’ve guessed this next one, but they’ve let their children get away with a smack here and a smack there to those who don’t obey their every demand – and even to those who do. But I am not the only one. I am not the only unlucky punching bag to experience the hatred of someone much older, more mature, wiser and certainly, not just a kid. Is that it? Is that why you let him go? I was four when it started and fifteen when it ended. To you, that’s a child. Children don’t know much, do they.

Dear authorities, that’s where you’re wrong.

I was four when it started and if you think it stopped at fifteen when my abuser walked out, think again. It never fully stops, not yet. I am nearly twenty years old and I still flinch if someone holds out their hand for a handshake or raises their voice just a notch because they’re a little out of earshot and I needed them to repeat.

Dear authorities, I can’t live because you won’t let me.

Oh, you like Budwiser? Corner Gas, the T.V. show? Do I smell steak? Potatoes baked on the BBQ? You need a plumber? Handyman? Oh look, you’re wearing red. Do you think I appreciate being reminded by the stupidest things, that my abuser is out there? Why is that? Could it possibly be because nobody has bothered giving the man any possible discipline?

Dear authorities, I’m tired of being told, “it’ll be okay, it’s not that bad.”

People after people have continuously told me to go talk to someone. I’ve seen multiple counsellors, doctors, talked to teachers, specialists, friends and family. But what are you doing to help? I moved away from my mother and siblings, in fear. Fear, because every time we moved anywhere the lawyer told us we had to give our address to the abuser. We could not deny him access to us, we could not cut off communication with him. I had to leave, as an attempt to protect myself and hide in a big city with lots of people and hopefully I could blend in.

Dear authorities, you have failed me.*

Stop telling me things will be okay, when he is out there and things only seem to matter when a death occurs.

Dear authorities,

Dear authorities…

Dear me, you’re not dead so authorities don’t care.
I originally posted this on my blog & today decided to post it on here as well. If you'd like to see the original on my blog, you may view it, like it, share it or comment on it, at
Archita Sep 2015
I flinch only a bit
as you tuck me in your heart.
I wake in your dreams
as you dream in my arms.
Into the night, and out
there's nothing but sound
Of hushed voices,
heartbeats racing
and the crickets around.
Midnight musings
elle May 2015
You are a ghost
that haunts my coast
lighting up every inch
leaving me with a flinch
kerry lynne May 2015
[please] don't joke about my weakness when i flinch

i don't think you realize this

but every time someone draws a hand back,
[even if they aren't being serious]

i will flinch.

and i will think of the time that the person wasn't joking when they drew their hand back

and i will think of the time that they did hit me

and i will flinch.
I’m sorry, I don't mean
to flinch - it's just… his hands
never had such a sweet touch
like yours. And please don't stop singing sweet
nothing's, for I am so used to
'you're nothing's
I want to fix you
I want to watch your eyes light up
I want to know what your laugh sounds like
I want to see the corners of your eyes crinkle up when you smile
I want you to crack the worst jokes just to make people laugh
I want to hold you without you flinching
I want to touch you without you screaming
I want you to sleep without nightmares
I want you to feel comfortable in your own skin
I want to wipe away the marks
I want to heal the scars he left
I want to fix you
Let me fix you.

— The End —