I can hear the thrum of boots on cobblestone in 1920

The strangled cries of our grandmothers

The suffragettes who’s nails broke and bled grasping for our futures

A future of righting wrongs, their shouts and signs a shove of momentum for daughters who may never know the truth and violence in not having a choice

I can hear school girls weeping in the bathroom

Staring at pink lines as their friend ...

I think my bed is my best friend

my lover

my sanctuary and cell

_why can’t I ever get up_

I think my sheets hold secrets

none that will ever be shared

none that will whisper beyond these walls

_I need to get up_

I think time runs backwards here

days spent feeling better

nights spent knowing it’s worse

_I’m going to die here _

my mother says I need fresh air

a fresh start

a new day

it’s not ...

coffee tastes better now

sometimes I wonder if I just prefer bitter things

sometimes I wonder if choking sweet sugary syrup down down down

is what they meant by love

by sweet nothings

the rain is coming

with no one around to comment on it

for my sake

I wonder if you just preferred bitter things

the house stands still and stale

and all the people too

the hush hush hush

of a slow crawl up the st...