
her friends flocked around her,
a cloud of makeup and safety-pin piercings
she showed her wrists
proudly,
her hair dyed shades of tragic,
eyes circled dark.
Wore her diagnosis like an ID key card,
opening all the doors,
getting her into the right crowds.
And we rolled our eyes
at the self-absorption,
poked fun at the melodrama.
How absurd, we said, shaking our heads,
miming razors across skin,
laughing.
And I held firmly to the edges of my sleeves,
smiling, terrified,
trying to hide the Band-Aids.









lpanopoulos


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