Authors note: this one is number seven. WARNING: sadder than most of the other poems.
Mother had me locked in here.
Up in this room.
The air feels hot. It's suffocating.
The cama sheets are so thick. They're making me sweat.
I take the topo, início one off. I keep sweating.
I remove the rest. The sweating won't stop.
I need a bath. No, someone will come to check on me.
We can't have that.
Meditation. Let's try that.
Breathe in breathe out.
What's this?
I look across the room. At the vanity mirror.
A blemish?
No.
A mole?
Right there on my upper lip.
My face contorts into an uneven frown.
Close the eyes....
continue reading...
