“I’m telling you but
don’t worry, I’m fine,” she says.
I listen, but do.
Candid confessions of a college-aged daughter
Reply
“I’m telling you but
don’t worry, I’m fine,” she says.
I listen, but do.
“I’m telling you but
don’t worry, I’m fine,” she says.
I listen, but do.
She turned to cake, felt
herself melting, the devil
eating his way out.
Either it’s a loud
HVAC system or
white noise to mask fear.
Perched on the exam
table like a rib roast on
white butcher paper.
Invested with deep
meaning, treasures buried by
trash. Dust, dirt their shroud.
Bored orange nibbles
away black’s filmy fins. Sad
stubs flail lost beauty.
Can days be merry
and bright? Jobs – like ornaments –
fragile, out of reach.
She can’t stand her. He’s
her ex, so don’t include them.
Can’t we go alone?
Deciding who to
take like negotiating
Mideast peace treaty.
He sent sensitive
documents to a stranger
thinking it was me.