spoiled girls are sad too.

i don't blow kisses,
nor do i send hearts
made of broken paper construction
and lots of missing parts

its the crying baby
who gets the milk.

there is relief in
such tragedy,
when you're
not the one
who's
suffering.

I inherited my mothers lost tongue...
when she dropped it, i
picked it up.
in it, i found both her
fire, and her hidden words.

i inherited my father's bitter wounds;  
every time one opened up,
a piece of me grew to douse it
in alcohol, and
in tears.

i was given both a lock and a key,
and the need to stitch things
Closed.

he came crawling up the street
like a nightmare in a human body*
grabbed her arm, and while
paralyzed with fear,
*she forgot to run

feelings are meant to be
hurt,
for if they were not,
why would they?