*Disclaimer: I read the newspaper before I wrote this. None of these things have happened to me*
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.
