I dreaded this day, I hate holidays. Everyone else is out there communicating with each other, and I'm here in this guest bedroom alone, where it's quiet and peaceful. We're fixing to eat, I'm not even hungry. My anxiety is high, sky rocketing as I'm writing this. My heart, beating out of my chest. I want my father back. He left to go to Texas to visit my great-grandmother. She wasn't doing too well. Though it was not a dire situation to go and visit her, he went anyway. At least with him being here, I could have someone to hide behind, but he isn't. Now I'm here.
YOU ARE READING
Focus Henry
PoetryIdk what the hell this is. I'm just gonna write what comes to mind. This is probably going to be a entry that has a lot of parts, I don't know how many exactly, I just know that it will go on for a while.
