“Death of…”

I felt my guts roll up into my abdomen and it ended with chunks of corn, soy sauce & brats being splattered into the lawn. Super juicy fact. Shitty man sauce…let’s continue.

I get anxious a lot. It’s like being sunburned, drunk, dehydrated and wishing you could slurp chicken noodle soup…and your mom wasn’t your mom…

Trauma: your best friends mom made soup.

Fuck you Heather.

Ugh. Why.

Sure. Throw a cup…great…we’re we good?!

Punch me in the chest outside of a JV basketball game with “Bear” in tow…?!…that’s trauma.

Not for me.

When, if ever, can it be okay to just be okay?!

When?

I would appreciate a text, phone call.

Something real.

I’ve done wrong and I’ve laid it out in stone.

If we were equals…when is it equal?