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This is not a poem;;

Before you read this, just know that you’re probably going to leave angry. You’re probably going to feel your face flush and rage shoot through your brain. You’re probably going to go “who the fuck are you?” and “what kind of bullshit is this?” and that’s okay. I can live with that. So if you can read this open minded, that’d be great. If not, that’s okay. I get it. Some things are just too heavy and too raw for people to lift up and look inside.

To the parent who forgot their kid in the car today, or maybe it was last week, or maybe it was that time you’ve never told anyone about…I am so sorry that happened to you. I imagine you wild-eyed with panic. Maybe you dropped the groceries. Maybe you got back in your car and your heart dropped to the floor when you realized what you’d done. I hope your kid was okay and just know that someone knows that you love that kid so. damn. much. The thing about forgetting is that we never intend to forget and that’s the thing about forgetting. We can’t control what we forget. If you could, we wouldn’t forget the important things.

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skeletons.

we all have skeletons in our closets,
with strong bones and socket eyes
that can look straight into your soul.
we all have a door thats locked,
with cannon loaded, gun cocked
in case someone tries to open it.
yes, we do. and you know it.
yes, we do. and you know it.
there are skeletons in our closets,
wearing grandmas sweaters
and little knit socks with bows.
maybe they’ve got belts
around their necks, like the ties
dad gets on fathers day – if hes around.
those bones rattle and creak,
and we know it, yes we do.
we know it, yes we do.
skeletons that can last a lifetime
preserved with the kind of booze
served at frat parties and clubs.
tastes a lot like a yes, no sound.
skeletons like ghosts, follow you
live in every closet you ever had
try on all your favorite dresses
and wears your favorites shoes.
they dress just. like. you.
have the same hair, same eyes.
and we see it, yes we do.
we see it, yes we do.
skeletons sit in the backseat of cars
and watch you in parking lots
they can touch you,
in places you didn’t know you could be touched.
but they’re just bones. just bones.
and bones can be buried,
and bones can turn to dust,
and dust can be wiped away, clean slate.
and we know it, we know it.