Would you be the lotion
for my dry, cracked hands?

I call you a trouble maker because you got detention.  
But really it's because you're a thief.
You stole something very fragile of mine.
*please be careful with my heart

Dear pillow,
Thanks for holding me when I sleep
Thanks for Greeting me when I wake
Thanks for Calming me right to sleep

You
Relaxing me
Comforting me
My best friend

A small child
in a mass grave. One
of millions, but this one
bore your name. Then
I cry. Pregnant mothers
and old men, brothers
and wives and daughters and all
I can think about
is this child that shared
a string of letters
with you. What if
What if
What if

"So you ARE having surgery this summer? Hmm... what if you die?"*

"Honestly? I wouldn't mind."*

I wouldn't.
Really.
In a way, I'd be relieved.
Better for a doctor to **** me than for me to **** myself, right?

Sister, do you know
that everyone says that behind my back?
That I am nothing, that I am bad at everything?

They ignore me. The friends that I thought I had were just shells and façades with a burning interior whose goal was to engulf me in their flames.
To extinguish my flame.

Everyday is a silent battle for me,
don't you know this already?!
Why do you think I eat so much?
Only food can attempt to fill in the gaping hole in my heart where good friends should be.

So when you say,
"Nobody loves you"
the hole is dug deeper and deeper.

You hold the shovel.
You can choose to dig it deeper
or perhaps fill it in.
Your choice.

Your sister,
Wistful Wanderer

Under pressure,
I snap like twigs,
crack like thunder
and split trees like lightning,

*I cave in.