There is Strength in Our Stories
a tiny staff break room
a shared history
perpetrated by the ones closest to us.
cockeyed in her chair
chewing a PB&J.
She woke up
her pajama pant leg neatly cut away,
betrayed twice in a night
once by the muscle relaxer that sent her deep into
and once by the man she called
My bad, he said, the next morning.
My bad, he said, and laughed.
She had to dig pieces of the crushed tampon out of herself
with a spoon.
She tells the story with no tears
(He didn’t even
she was mad.)
it wasn’t the first time men
had taken what they wanted.
Her first experience was at the hands of her best friend. He
lured her into the woods for
his classmates to have their – what
did they call…
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