No, this isn’t a poem. Sorry, folks. My muse for poetry is still asleep. I’ll wake her up as soon as I can, promise! This is…
You didn’t call — I don’t blame you — a childwithout a phone without controlbut, you promised, and…
we the willingled by the unknowingare doing the impossiblefor the ungrateful
I miss youyet I’m glad you’re gone
a month agoi never could have believedthat such a thing could happennot for meneverfor me
they tell mei am made of stonethat i can withstandanything