the train passes; I am not on the tracks

the universe is growing, and so are you.

YOU DON’T HAVE TO BREAK MY RIBS TO GET TO MY HEART, YOU ALREADY HAVE IT

my mother tells me to buckle up, that i could die if we were in an accident. with little interest in dying, i do. my mother tells me i’m her girl, that she would do anything for me. she says i’m her rock, her strength. my mother starts drinking again. i discover my favorite bar food is a bag of nacho flavored combos, and a cherry coke. i become familiar with every bar in the area. my mother tells me to bring her another beer. i comply with little resistance. i’m ten years old. my mother drinks a thirty pack a day. she tells me i will never amount to anything. she tells me to kill myself if i’m unhappy. i try. my mother tells me to kill myself if i really want to. i try again. my mother tells me to buckle up, that i could die if we were in an accident. i don’t.

sometimes the tragedy of distance is very simple. i want to get groceries with you