5th grade
you all hurt me very much. you all speak whispers behind my back and conspire to cause me pain, you are thoughtless heartless monsters and you puncture my image of how lovely things should be with your ugly careless nails. i hate you all, i don't feel safe here. only songs and books understand me. why can't we talk to each other and why can't you give me what i want?
i dreamt about my childhood friend whose mother died in fifth grade. in the weeks afterward i thought about going to her house and ringing her doorbell, but couldn't think of what i would say afterwards. what could a ten year old say to another after such an unimaginable loss? to this day the guilt and shame wrap around my bones like moss.