Janey, At The Back of the Class — A Poem

DISCLAIMER: This poem is quite…dark…for lack of a better term. But, here it is.

Janey, At The Back Of The Class

And what of Janey

The ghost at the back of the class

She plays under the slide at recess

Alone

Tiny fingers picking the order out of her braids

Trying to reach deeper, hoping

To pick the slaughter out of her brain

Memories

Of an uncle’s love she never asked for

and tried to scream away

Uselessly

With nobody home

I hope you liked it. Actually, I hope you didn’t. I don’t even like it. Because the story is so common.

Too common.

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