Sitting straight up and down, hands in my lap, looking out on a room, cleaning out my nails by sliding one under another, absent minded grooming, listening, usually smiling.
My mom’s thoughts about me don’t reach me and I kiss the ground for that but also I shout out against it.
Head back laughing, knee slapping, full throated.
If she could choose my accolades what would she pick and if she could see all of my inner world what would she shield her eyes against.
i wonder the same
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