On Entitlement to Grief

I sit in a room full of people,

Looking upon teary eyes and blotchy faces.

People who knew him longer than I,

Better than I,

Who shared jokes and stories and laughter and tears.

I listen as they speak,

Filled with sadness for what is,

And for what could have been.

I watch and listen,

Eyes glistnening with tears,

And despite the hosesty of my grief,

I know it is nothing to theirs,

And I feel like an imposter.

This poem is about: 
Me
My community

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