By Tiana Clark
Ok, I said it.
I was twelve. I was in the backseat
of a moving car. I had a crush.
I was silent, except for my mouth
chock-full of braces and rape.
I’ve been writing around the rim
of the word like the blunted tip
of a spent bullet. But, I said it.
I’m saying it now. I was twelve.
I was silent. I didn’t stop it, ok.
I had a crush and the mind of a child.
When I was a [ ], I spake as a
[ ], I understood as a [ ],
I thought as a [ ]: but when I became
[ ], I put away [ ] things.
I told you I had a crush. I’m telling
you I was crushed. I am crushing
the flood, overwhelming. What now?
There is a dead cockroach in the corner.
I won’t pick it up. I keep sweeping
(around)
the thing on the floor.
The poem first appeared and was originally published with Iron Horse Literary Review.
Photo by Jens Lelie on Unsplash
