“Was I supposed to be looking for a pedophile around ever tree?”
Yes mother, you were.
“Should I have not shaken his hand?”
No father, you shouldn’t have. He is a pedophile.
“What could we have done? You didn’t tell us enough.”
I told you both enough.
I lay here.
The sticks thrown,
Laying at my feet.
Lashes felt through out me.
I lay here,
As the green algae envelops me.
They won’t notice.
They scoff at my defeat.
“She’s just mentally ill.”
They say to disregard me.
To deflect my persistent screams.
They mock and minimize the anxiety.
My spine is crooked from their feet.
I said enough.
I shouted to the world.
But enough is not what they ever need.
“Silence!” The continue to plead.
I will never concede.
They want me down with the sticks
And the stones.
They want me covered in the mold.
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