No one but me.

I’m sitting inside the sad place of my heart

That grows teeth and bites when I’m not looking.

I get lost there, stuck there really, because an incisor

Has snagged my sock, and as I pull hard, I’m hurting

no one but me.

What is that moment like, telling this truth to a stranger

Whose face could say it all,

Whether they too bare holes in their socks

Or practice pretending you’re the only one who’s

ever known what it means to cry?

Looking for a good book? Go here.

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