In a dim lit food court of a destitute mall,
Sat two blue-eyed wildflowers.
You a Golden Jerusalem,
With your gilded yellow hair,
Cascading around your daisy-like cheeks.
And I a Noble Columbine,
Whose hair morphed like a kaleidoscope,
With each passing mood of the week.
Cousins by blood, sisters by choice.
Until you opened your mouth and I heard the sound of my aunt’s voice.
We were supposed to be there for one another,
But you ghosted me over last summer.
Because of lies told to you by your mother.
How could you believe her over me?
Does my firsthand testimony not mean anything?
I think it’s funny how life unfolds,
Thirteen years ago, you were the first person I told,
Suddenly, everyone knew in...