Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Joanne and the Prisoner of Her Hatred

You screamed that my siblings were silencing you.

You screamed that my siblings were dangerous.

You screamed a new story,

into books that didn’t ask for edits.

You screamed that you knew their story better,

(after all, you’re a bestseller),


in the middle of the night,

to a captive crowd,

that used to manifest themselves,

in the mirrors that you made.

You kept your hatred in a cupboard,

under the stairs,

until you were blessed enough,

to buy a tower,

to punch down from.

You avert your eyes,

when our siblings suffer,

victim blaming,

you pin painful labels on their graves.

You demand freedom for yourself,

but you won’t let them be free,

of the assumptions you anchor them with.

Charging in,

you chastise,

conquering a community,

that only wanted peace.

You scream at me,

that I am in danger,

but I’ve never felt as safe,

as when I’m sitting with my siblings,


what you tried to destroy.

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