Leftovers

Posted on by under poetry

A thing that remains after
something
is finished or ended.

What is
left
over
from rape?

I was six,
at first.
He was
30-something?
In a child’s eyes
all men are
ancient.

The making of this dish
was heat
in slow coils of electric
dark-haired arms
small limbs
like bird bones and a
fluttering heart.

Since,
my history grows like neon
mold, rainbows of color
sick twisting of life
on leftovers.

I am tired of taking
apart words to
find their meanings.
Left.
Over.

 

Written in response to The Daily Post writing challenge for this week,here. Poem by Annie Jadin, speakingvoiceless.wordpress.com.

135 thoughts on “Leftovers”

  9. Pain, without the comfort of someone whom can provide explanation for it, gives one acceptance of circumstance. Words can’t be taken apart so emotions must be. Very, well constructed and it forces an unlooked for empathy from the reader to the writer. This proves how powerful this particular work is. I have high regards for your craftsmanship.

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    • Thank you! I read Speak shortly after it was published and found it powerfully written. Did you like it? I understand your worry about your sister. Thankfully, issues of sexual assault and harassment on college campuses are under intense scrutiny now so hopefully we will see better resources for survivors and lower frequencies of these crimes on campuses.

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      • Yes! It was a great read! And knowing that she’s going to a safe neighborhood really helps me. Congrats on making Freshly Pressed and I’d love it if you checked out my blog! Thanks!

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