thirteen
I wouldn’t wish thirteen
on my worst enemy
a moment in time
when everything and nothing mattered
growing up is a stomach ache
the flu year-round
i used to cry to my mother
let me take a sick day
god please, let me take a break.
Tagged in
Innocence
Scuzzbucket
Dirty realism, grunge lit, creative confessions, spec fic, and assorted literary atrocities.
More informationFollowers
More, on Medium
