They were my world. Their big voices, large laughs, glamorous wardrobes, and exciting trips to Las Vegas and Spain. They wanted to live BIG…big and hard…and their pain got in the way. I hunger for them…and all of their grandiosity.
They had wings
They had fangs
They had arms that suffocated my life
They whispered, jump off that cliff
They screamed, you can’t love anyone but me
They were the honey that seeped into my pores and turned into bee stings
They made me fight for life, although they thought they were giving me an easy life
But they knew war, poverty, dead meat on their backs.
They went through it all…pogroms, heart attacks, mental breakdowns, suicide and cancer.
They lived and died and now I am left with their handprints all over my cells.
How can I ever just give them a tatter…or a scrap…they made me…they made me.
And now I am still me in them.
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