Sexual Abuse

In My Bedroom

In my bedroom, memories are scars that mutilate and the emancipation of disfigurement’s friend cannot be. Love’s presence is neither corporal or sentiment and the innocent child discards me. Dirt’s dispenser envelopes me, suffocates, and oozes from every damaged cell. It contaminates “could have been?” marking me used goods for sale. I wish I were…… Continue reading In My Bedroom