i remember
that night.
when i sat,
waiting,
for my mother,
her high heels
clicking against
the white
linoleum.
that night,
when i threw up,
sobbing,
when i pulled out
my hair.
listening,
praying,
that the doctor
would tell my mother
that she still had
two daughters.
YOU ARE READING
whole
Poetryhis skin is liquid gold in my hands and yet i am the one who is melting
