I swallowed my pride, 
remembered that Patroclus
didn't have to die and that 
left no bloody body to mourn. 
I knew the tragedy 
of mourning. 

I woke up every morning
to the hollow sounds 
of a heartbeat in 
I thought of all 
my friends with parents
who loved them. 
I wished them well. 
I wished them hell.


I spent my last year
sucking hope dry, 
pretending not to cry,
working towards absence. 
I was raised by the night 
and the eternal Georgia sun, 
but not by you, 
never by you. 
I became so strong,
no bullet or body 
could touch me. 

The day I left, 
I chained my tongue
to the back of my throat
and told you I loved you. 
My backseat filled up 
with all the thing I couldn't 
let you keep. 

I will become 
a memory, erasable 
with time, 
with the steady transfer
of bitterness 
from my poisoned veins 
back into the source. 





This poem is about: 
My family


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