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the cost of your voice
She said
“Speak to me.”
And my words
fell like rain
from my lips
to your ears
with my trust.
“Believe me,”
I had said
when the pour
ceased, you
promised me
it was enough.
Blame me,
for the bruises
the swelling,
the burn marks
you know that
he made.
Corner me,
say I did it,
knowing it’s
been four years
since I’ve touched
a blade.
Teach me
that speaking
will hurt me
and children
had better
keep quiet.
Trust me,
I’ve learned to
trust no one
I promise
next time
I’ll stay silent

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