|
a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
|
|
a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
|
![]() He sends me a letter saying “I hope you’re doing better than you were.” I'm surprised he still remembers I’ve been cold since last December. Feeling like a feral dog, feeling stuck in Florida sun, it’s warm here in October, but I’d rather travel up the valley with you. I know you're drifting and I’m kicking at the sand, you may not love me anymore but God, you don’t have to be so mean. Sitting sad in Margaritaville, singing to Jimmy Buffet while he’s getting high and laughing like he’s alright, I cannot compete. Miss him touching on me. He sends me a letter, it’s kind and it’s moral, I could never write so sane. But I can tell this love is not the same. And maybe it’d be easier if he was vicious like my father, but he is soft and hollow bone. He is beautiful and I am grief and ache. Comments are closed.
|
Categories
All
* = Editors' Choice work
Unless otherwise noted, all pictures used are open-source images in the public domain. Archives
September 2023
|