Last night at dinner,
Dad watched me push on
a bump on my back,
massaging it with three fingers
in circular motions.
Hold my neck up high,
make a straight line,
shoulders back,
the bump still there.
“Your mother had that, you know.
Just get used to it.”
The only piece of you in me
is something I don't want.
Dad watched me push on
a bump on my back,
massaging it with three fingers
in circular motions.
Hold my neck up high,
make a straight line,
shoulders back,
the bump still there.
“Your mother had that, you know.
Just get used to it.”
The only piece of you in me
is something I don't want.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.
rockstardream
Dreamer_
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