You’re tell everyone how well the changes treat you. I can’t wait to snip the strings that hold you up. Watch you fall like rain from the clouds that we sat under the night I told you my dad was getting worse. I fall apart then piece myself together again, but you walk around like you’re sober. Talking loudly, taking up space, show us your palms so that we have proof you once crawled too. You once dragged yourself along the cement just to stand back up on your own. You bled the same way we did. What’s holding you up now? No movements can be so graceful after all the damage. You’re a fraud. We’re all dodging the idea of living the same nightmares over and over again. Pretending to be healed until our scars look less purple. Wishing for the good kind of change- the kind that heals you, even with scarred palms. -AMT ©️