I keep saving things to my Pinterest pins and boards of things that make me feel like a kid again.
Like I can go home.
Like the grief I suffer is just a side effect of the sun being too hot or my head hurting too bad.
That maybe I'll wake up on the concrete outside my family's trailer in the shade with all of my MLP's surrounding me in the same position they were when I dozed off, mid-convo or shopping spree or out to lunch.
I didn't know this pain then. This amount of suffering.
She didn't know what would come of any of this.
The pain never stops, and I pray that I can hold her and tell her everything's gonna be okay but I can't.
The air is so warm as it comes in through my window, I can hear my mom in the kitchen and my stepmom in the yard.
I don't want to grow up, not yet, not now.
YOU ARE READING
My poems
De TodoI will write my deepest, saddest thoughts here. Warning, you may cry, or scream, or tell someone you love them more then ever. But please don't be angry with me.
