Philophobia

Sixty-Two

A poem for My Future

Of course, I'm scared

I gave up love in the fifth grade

At ten years old

I haven't had a hand to hold since

I said goodbye to my mother's abusive ways

In the sixth grade,

At 11 years old

I could still remember you boarding the first flight to Atlanta

In the eighth grad

At 13 years old

I still didn't realize you would never really come home