Gemotions

"They're hanging my poems," Maya said, her voice barely a whisper. She stared into her reflection in the glass of the window, seeing a stranger's face. Her poems, scribbled in a notebook and meant only for her eyes, now plastered onto the walls of a trendy bookstore. Each word a scream she didn't realize she had let out.

The thought of an audience brought a physical tightening in her chest. She remembered the feeling of writing, the escape, now replaced by an overwhelming sense of violation. This place, once offering refuge from the world, now served only to spotlight her vulnerability.