Grew up shaking hands with the iron.

Making a thousand diamonds shine on the floor.

Screaming over the voices inside.

Bruises and marks behind locked doors.

A game of play and pretend had begun.

Teddybears and sharp knives do not match.

I told her about
me reading
poetry.
She laughed.
Thought I was
joking.
Looked at
me as if she
did not know
me.
Like I had
always been
unsentitive.
Immune to
sorrow.
I was a
sister who
had become
a stranger
in a moment
of seconds.
The fake smile
had worked.
That is why
I will never
tell her about
my heartaches
and depressing
poems.

Until now I thought that I was over you.
But I realized that I was not.
I have not been able to wear my red hoodie.

The one that I used to wear when we were walking together.
The one were you would put your hand up my sleeve and hold my hand. The one with our memorize.

So I wore it for three days in a row to convince myself that I am over you. **Mission accomplished.