every year it shocks me.
i tell myself it won't be as hard this time around
that Year 8 won't feel like Year 1
not as knifed and angry
not as chaotic and desperate
nothing like that first morning:
waking beneath heartache, anvil-heavy,
my eyes opened and cried in the same moment.
the insanity of the thing
your face and your body gone
while my own little drum held fast its rhythm
how does one draw a line through their own name?
this task i have spent nearly a decade at:
how to be a non-daughter
No comments:
Post a Comment