Sunday, August 21

Not That Girl

I recoil when people touch my shoulder, 
whisper, "I'm so sorry."

I want to tell them to take it back because
I am not that girl.

I am not the girl who lost her dad.

I can't be. 

The girl collecting a thousand sad stares, the girl with pocketfuls of ache, is carrying a burden with which I can't lock eyes.

For to look is to crumble.

And I already crumbled yesterday.


  1. Ain't nothing wrong with crumbling.

  2. Also, your writing touches a part of soul that not many things touch. So simply beautiful and honest.