They took my bra because of the underwire. My breasts were free, but I was not. I couldn’t wear my sneakers from my husband because of the laces. And I could not bring in any of my pens to write poetry. They couldn’t let us have the things that made us comfortable or happy. We might kill ourselves, you know.
Tag: microblogging
Micro Poem
I am tucked in beneath my lid,
the jar lined with velvet.
Tell Me Again

Embers

Justice

Polite Fire
