The nights that I remember Him

He had me in the palm of his hand

So I could not slip through his fingers

Or drip down his body and evaporate.

Thus, I was suspended in a state

of learned helplessness

Imprisoned by his kiss.

But a transformation began

My resolve hardened, and particles

Of my being sifted like sand

Through his unsuspecting follicles.

I no longer seek to understand

Why I was a prisoner to his hands

Why my body succumbed to his every whim

My thoughts are focused solely on survival

on the nights that I remember him.

 

 

 

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Author: Kalia Attal

I am an aspiring investigative journalist with a single dream: to save the world. It may seem impossible, but I believe knowledge promotes tolerance, and tolerance breeds empathy, kindness, and compassion. Love is the cure for Earth's cancer.

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