I’m seventeen now
and I miss my dad
My hands are always cold
I miss your hands
I am terrified that you’ll
find something missing in me
that you loved in her
I feel the flower
you left on your dresser
it wilted years ago
I can’t stop staring at
the shadows on
his bedroom walls
because I take advantage of
the way people feel about me
I don’t want to be
another version of myself
I want you to tell me
you really hate me
because I do too
I can't control the things
that I need to change
and everything I have said
since my thirteenth birthday
sounds like "I'm sorry"
I hate that my silence
is too loud
for you