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Callused

Do you harbor animosity for survival?
I helped you suffocate delicate heartbeats in poisonous mason jars, watched you take life with
ease.
I can’t place the blame on you when you were indoctrinated, trained to be a shameless murderer
armed with a net and skin encased structural integrity.
Now, I'm begging you to pin me to a styrofoam display and frame me on your bedroom wall so I
no longer have to speculate if you still think of me.
An apology is futile when the damage is irreversible but I’m tirelessly sorry for lacerating your
wings anyway.
I would let you sew my button eyes if you would let me drown in one more heaving giggle,
if you would ever re-entrust your fury to me.
Your acne has cleared and sometimes I can’t help but entertain the thought that maybe
I was always the causation of your grievances.
Perhaps, for you, the chasm was an alleviation you walked away from unscathed

--Juliette Z.,  Adult