I harp on the reasons why I made my walls out of brick, my arms weaker, each brick heavier.
I don’t have to keep stacking but I do, despite my liquid elbows and invisible joints
You might
admire. No wheezing breath between disgruntled signs of affection to blow down my barricade, no lung capacity large enough to get through my wall. You take in a gaping breath
but it will never break down my life’s work, my shield of protection that may
be the world’s
warning. No interruptions knocking on the door of my seedy heart, with a fist pure and strong, like a baby holding all he’s got. “Wow! Isn’t he a strong boy! What a heartbreaker
he’ll be!” bounces off walls of a generational violent embrace echoing
“greatest”
through closed lips. But when you whisk me in your arms, outstretched like a vessel of warm
goods, my vision starts to fade. I see nothing but the seldom pleasurable bits of time,
destroying the nauseating reality I know, becoming my
Distraction
Located in Hamilton, Ontario, Abbey Rain Hanson is a student at McMaster University, studying English & Cultural Studies and Theatre & Film. She has had the privilege of publishing both fiction and poetry with Arrival Magazine, Inventio, and Hamilton Arts & Letters Magazine. She finds passion in fiction, poetry and scriptwriting; particularly exploring topics of identity, coming of age narratives, and tales of female agency.