There was never a class on the effects of abuse. Everyone knows to look for bruises or cuts, even cigarette burns. They watch for yelling and outbursts, a broken home.
By Kaiya Christiansen4 months ago in Poets
Sometimes I feel like I’ve gone through the wash but I’m supposed to be hand-dry. Life is a dog chewing on my nose, regardless of where I am
By Kaiya Christiansenabout a year ago in Poets
Sometimes I think I’m healing. I’m better, I don’t feel anxious. My friends can tell. It feels good. I talk to boys, and I laugh hard.
By Kaiya Christiansen2 years ago in Poets
I do not fall in love lightly. It is irregular. It is not gentle. He sat, in my second hour class, where I wrote essays
In quarantine, I learned how to play tennis from my brother’s friend. She picked me up, and spent most of the day just showing me where to put my hands.
By Kaiya Christiansen3 years ago in Poets
When I was ten years old, I developed freckles, and cried for days. I hated them. I didn’t like the way the dark spots stood out,