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.
Ericka Clay 
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