Anthem

Anthem

…and my hair was tangled with leaves and roots
and smeared dirt painted me another color
and his eyes looked down, laughing to see me broken.
Some days I can almost
almost
forget my realness.

In its details it was simple.
Clinical – this goes here,
that there,
now.
Hold her down.
Its themes?
Ask him.

His name
was
Kevin
and
my name
was

is

Gone.

But there is still
– something –
here.

Surviving.
Some people
call us survivors
but that word is too static.
It implies the surviving is over.
“I survived.”
Every day is survival.
Every minute
that I don’t see his face
etched on my memory
a pattern on glass
an exacto knife on a wax paper cutout
they don’t tell you in the instructions how easy it is to shatter
glass.

 

Poem by Annie Jadin, speakingvoiceless.wordpress.com.

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