March 26th, Year of the Moon

Father, I know this is hell. I know, I know it’s my home. This sickness is my health. Sister as the ominous grey clouds. Sister as the loaded gun. I know this is my home. Mother as the three-headed monster. The whispers that hold an ancient curse. I know, I know this is home. I am absorbed into this.

All pleasures fade away like a child’s wish, ignored by a shooting star. I am the stranger I fought to get to know. Wednesday will see me a bride. Thursday will see me a widow.

I heard every word of Cory’s accidental call to me. He was at an anti-choice rally. I am the terrible girlfriend who murdered his child, without consideration for his feelings. I am a bitch, with no regard for human life. He said this to a sizeable group, who I heard clearly through the line. And they ate up his words, just like I once did.

So, I am not well. I see now, not many people are well.

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March 26th, Year of the Moon

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