He was a man, like all the rest,or so my mamma said.The violet and green that decorate my body,a sign of his devotion and affection and nothing more.Or so my mamma said.He was a man, like all the rest,a sign of his devotion and affection and nothing more.The stabbing, crawling of my flesh, a reflection of his love.He was a man, like all the rest,with fists in place of open palms.The stabbing crawling of my flesh, a reflection of his love.When he raped me, when he beat me,a reflection of his love and nothing more.
❧
About the writer
Lily Mixon. Lily Mixon is a writer from Birmingham, AL. She attends the Alabama School Of Fine Arts, and majors in Creative Writing.
Continue