Grief is heavy in my heart today,
But I have been denied the ability to grieve.
The heavy wooden doors swing open,
And there she stands, thin arms reaching out,
Like vines threatening to strangle the oxygen from my blood.
Her fingers running through my hair,
An invasion of my savagely fought for peace,
A foreign feeling that makes my soul cringe and shrivel into itself.
I step away and she steps closer.
I want to scream, "Unhand me, wench!"
But I retain my composure and bite my tongue until it is swollen against my teeth,
Not for her, but for the sake of the mourning,
And for the sake of the dead,
And for the sake of my sanity.

How dare she act as if we...