There was always anger,-
I always found fault in the way that she lived life
In the ways that she felt emotions and expressed,-
In the way that she exhausted herself and gave pieces to everyone, leaving nothing left for herself
She was quick to boil my waters when she would mess up time and time again, with each mistake being worse than the last
Or especially when the comfort she found was in the uneasy, not okay methods,-
Like a lid would be to a candle
Like an odor to a fragrance
Like mud on off-white
There's no light underneath hooded scars
With too much, too deep to unpack,- and yet she always unpacked
Always too soon, unpacked just in time to up and...