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 leaning against the cubicle wall offers them soft, hollow words of solidarity Words through gritted teeth with fresh braces before second period starts

I can hear her fathers footsteps pacing the kitchen floor Blaming their mother, there was no way they would raise a child who has to raise a child His brother is really the one at fault, though he will still be invited to Thanksgiving

I can hear the hushed murmurs of men in 3-piece suits as a woman requests the bank teller to open her first credit card, wearing a lovely hat with ink still drying on divorce papers and bruises hidden under her gold buttoned coat

I can hear the pious protesters celebrating the closure of the last women’s health centre in Alabama They thank a god who has bred cruelty into many in his name and then go home to their wives making dinner Tomorrow will be the same for them

I can hear my sister, who’s one wish was to be a mother, wailing as she loses her baby I can hear her silence as she loses too much blood I can hear her husband screaming at the doctors to do something, anything I can hear the doctors arguing and pleading with lawyers I can hear her favourite song playing as her casket is lowered into the ground Our mothers sobs were drowned out

As the years go on, the more laws passed, the foot on the necks of women threatening to snap them at any second I can hear hope fading

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 to be understood the sinking and the spiraling the pillow filled with stifled screams

maybe if I open the curtains __ __ The lights are all too bright the stale air is more comfortable missed calls are a reminder that time is passing

and I’m still here __ __ I know I need to get up but at least I’m still here

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 staircase a bigger bed an empty space

I think misery and company are really the same thing

these days seem bitter now and I wonder if we just preferred better things