I used to think
we were all alike,
and that is true in one sense.
In another, though,
it is a fool's fantasy.
While we all feel,
we all laugh and cry,
it is done a different way:
a different sob,
a different volume,
a different place.
He can open up to someone
he passes on the street,
while another can only speak up
to her therapist in an office
on North Broadway.
While one is thirty-six
and the other is fifteen,
they are not the least bit alike,
and never will be.
What's the shame
in a little individuality?
YOU ARE READING
Rays in the Dark
Short StoryA collection of stories and poems depicting people's lives as they struggle with love, mental illnesses, and the everyday battles that life throws their way.
