Dear Mom, 

They keep me safe here 

It’s not worth knowing that 

They’ve chopped my hair 

I look like a boy, now


My flesh is fragile, still

At night 

The cold water freezes my nerves 

Do I have a choice of not washing their dishes? 

Had not my bruises remained raw, 

I’d have waited to write 

Their ointments are

Guarded by grandeur 

Even when my blood 

Shrieks out of my skin

Even after all,

They keep me safe here


Photography by: Elizaveta Dushechkina on Pexels