I am sorry that you wished for spring and
ended up with summer. How I only feel
bones and not the warmth you desperately
want to show me. That at night you pray
for my peace but come morning I am only
a marionette that resembles the fading ember
of father's cigarettes. How I cannot bear to step
out of this house; the ghosts will devour
me if I do, both inside and out. The skin
upon my soul cracks and cracks; like the
pavement you fell in when you broke your
feet. The time you told me to feel less, to stop
blaming myself; I am sorry for that too, that
I have tried and I cannot. Perhaps one day I
will manage to breathe without choking on
all the silences I cannot word, perhaps one
day I will be able to sleep without death on
the precipice. I am sorry I am the moon and
not the sun for you, that my sister radiates
light and I only reflect it. I have half your mind
and the full sum of your smile, but if only my
voice would remain as calm as yours when you
deal with misery, maybe I would finally learn to
be okay.

(A.H.Z)