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Click hereShe read my diary when I was young
A million years ago. She said "I know
How you think." mouth moving
Under her stiff maternal brow.
It felt like rape at the time
My private thoughts
Exposed to critical eyes
Unclean, reeking with
The stench of a diseased mind.
Against her huge censorious presence
I grew smaller, quieter
And stopped writing then, letting
Words pile up, pressure build.
Afraid to put pen to paper
Afraid that my words would be
Like fingerprints, like bloodstains,
Connecting me to the crime
Of independent thought.
It has taken half a lifetime
To outgrow her
And find my voice again.