Coco

It’s being told about stars

You can’t see

Yet

And having a book taken away

Before you can finish

And then having the middle spoiled

But not the end.

It’s smiling into the sunshine

Last night at work, I had a bit of a panic attack. Something like that, something similar. You don’t really know while you’re in it, why it happens, but the reasons were there, and I know them now. 

I want your freckled cheeks and blond eyelashes

and I want your flying hair

and I want your careful words that start tumbling fast,

woven together,

please

so I can wrap myself up

and remind myself of happy.

 “It was her fault

She was wearing that skirt

Practically asking for it”

No

No she wasn’t

She was 15 years old