When you told me
To grow up, I thought you meant,
"Kill your heart." And so I did.
Dutifully, plugged the tears until I suffocated.
Cussed. Spit. Hated.
(Are you proud of me?)
And then you said "grow up" didn't mean "don't feel"
But how do you revive something so broken?
Can't glue an identity back together. Can't fix it.
(Grown-ups don't do arts and crafts.)
And I feel like Abraham with Isaac under that knife because my mind shreds itself
inward as it tosses between humanity and
For Abraham's was faith, but I'm fighting that too.
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