On Sundays

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ChildShadowMommy, can’t you come along with us? You can hide and totty won’t see you but I’ll know you are there. I know he won’t hurt me, ’cause I’m his favorite and he loves me. Can I take a cellphone? I’ll hide it in my pocket and he won’t know but I’ll have it and I can call you or 911 if I have to. I’m going to be so good and listen and I won’t get him angry. Can you promise me Mommy that I will be safe today? Please? Promise me – I need to know that I’ll be OK. Bye Mommy…..

On Friendship

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These words are for you, my friend.BFF

I miss you.

I know that you are reading and thinking. I know that you are there.

Not so very long ago, the pieces that you knew of me made sense. But now when you read, you wander, and you wonder if you ever really knew me.

It is hard for me too, you know.

The gates are opening now, little by little, bits at a time. But there is a wall between you and me, a strong wall, a wall of differences, a wall of silence.

I hate that wall, that wall that I built with my words.

It is my fault that you feel this way and not a day goes by when I wish I had never ever dared to say the things I say here, because it costs too much. More

On Fire

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FireIt’s lonely to be alone, but echos in the empty cave pierce my ears and it’s easier to hope and it’s always, always, quieter in the silence.

They ask me and I am fine, because truth unravels and what other answer could there possibly be.

I thought that running meant leaving, I forgot that the world isn’t flat and round and round we go.

It’s not time, and it’s not silence, and it’s not sleep, and it’s not distance, but I keep thinking that one day I will find the cure for cancer, I am naive like that.

Today I think I’ll eat some chocolate, maybe that will work.

He wants me gone, he always did, and they always will, and fire smothers and burns.

On Pain 

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Sometimes. The. Pain. Is. Just. Too. Much.

On Scales

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scalesIt seemed like there was always too many things to buy and too little money to buy them. It was like a giant scale, take off the magazines and put on a pair of gloves, one looseleaf equals a jar of pickles, the taxi instead of the bus means no paper plates. Take something off, put something on, careful careful.

You’d think you would get used to it, that constant counting, but you never do and the piles all jumble and all you want to do is sleep.

It was cold that inky night, that bitter cold that cracks your words, but the walls were closing in so out we had to go.


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