Guest Contributor: Trinity Hollis
Illustration by: Denny Stoekenbroek
rage met me when i was molting.
i was pubescent.
sensitive and aching for wholeness
but rage was there to arm me
i defended my fresh layer of skin
my tender breasts
my lengthening legs
i tucked blades into my body hair
protecting the blackness i often ignored before i met rage.
just a girl when i met him.
he found me.
plucked at my premature skin.
buried himself deep inside
made a woman out of me.
never called again.
when i see whites
crunch they boots onto black folks’ bodies.
like the driven snow on a sidewalk.
the faint scent of his cologne calls.
but i can’t get angry.
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