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.
Ain't nothing wrong with crumbling.
ReplyDeleteAlso, your writing touches a part of soul that not many things touch. So simply beautiful and honest.
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