Throwing things away

In the process of packing and getting rid of things I have come upon some things written in the past by me that I would like
to remember and so they follow.

The capitalized poem Andrew wrote in my journal (after he had read it) and shortly after he raped me, leaving me covered in soapstone dust which is a carcinogen, was his way of communicating to me in my language because back then I spent hours a day buried in my notebooks.