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Four Manifestations of Grief

I.

MY DAD IS THE STRONGEST PERSON IN THE WORLD.


HE PICKS ME UP WITH ONE ARM,


TILL I TOUCH THE SKY.


MAKES THE DAYS PLAYFUL AND FUN.


HAS ANSWERS EVERY TIME I ASK WHY.


PROTECTS ME FROM HARM.


NOTHING EVER MAKES HIM CRY.


ONE DAY, I'LL BE JUST AS STRONG AS HE.


II.

Wake up. Eat. Sleep.

Wake up. Wash clothes. Sleep.

Wake up. Wash dishes. Sleep.

Wake up. Watch neighbors. Sleep.


I watch you

Routine

Away

Your days.


Your grief,

Unprocessed,

Became

Routine.


III.

You.

What can I say except,

Your pain hurts me.

Contorts me

Until I myself am hurt-full.


IV.

I'm strong.

I need to hold them up with my arms,

Raise their hope to the sky.

Make their days playful and fun.

Have answers to their why's.

Protect them from harm.

And never, ever cry.


I've faked strong so long I don't know what else I'm supposed to be.

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