I refuse to cut myself open
for some man to see me
I refuse to bleed myself dry for him to believe that
blood runs through me
I told you
I told you
I told you
we told you
we have told you
I refuse to show you my pain
to open my pain
to re-traumatize my pain
for you to believe me
briefly
If you didn’t believe us already
you were never going to believe us
a river of our blood pours from the sky
you grab an umbrella and say
“God, this better not ruin my shoes.”
Author Bio:
Anna is a high school teacher in Brooklyn, NY, with a prior professional background in public health. She finds poetry instrumental in processing and healing trauma, and takes great joy in sharing and creating work with other poets and writers. In her spare time, she also enjoys climbing, painting, and advocating for social justice.
for some man to see me
I refuse to bleed myself dry for him to believe that
blood runs through me
I told you
I told you
I told you
we told you
we have told you
I refuse to show you my pain
to open my pain
to re-traumatize my pain
for you to believe me
briefly
If you didn’t believe us already
you were never going to believe us
a river of our blood pours from the sky
you grab an umbrella and say
“God, this better not ruin my shoes.”
Author Bio:
Anna is a high school teacher in Brooklyn, NY, with a prior professional background in public health. She finds poetry instrumental in processing and healing trauma, and takes great joy in sharing and creating work with other poets and writers. In her spare time, she also enjoys climbing, painting, and advocating for social justice.
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