Bookshelf inside my head

My head is full of stories 

Stories I pretend I made up
Because that’s the only way I can live in this lifetime.

Like that night when I was 8 

When you came to my room and told me it would hurt

But I shouldn’t tell because that’s what family does

I died with every push that night.
Or the Day my Mom died

I prayed day and night for her to be healed

I was only six and I believed our prayers got answered

My faith in God changed that day.
Remember Aunt Mary

She was sick for the longest

The day you went to the stores

She told me to bring her a glass of water.

I saw her take her meds. Or so I thought

When you came she was no more.
Did I tell you about my 14th year 

And how I cried myself to sleep every night

And my arms knew the razor blade too well

Looking back I don’t know why I was so sad.

Maybe it was the divorce and having to pick sides.

Maybe it was the whispers that Daddy wasn’t my father

Maybe I was just overwhelmed.

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