September 16, 2010
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I remember I was angry at you
and you were small, you could not
do anything to make me angry at you.

I dug my teeth into your arm
your face flushed red with pain
and I watched you cry.

A year later, I remember:
walking on a beach with you
holding your hand as water licked our toes.

There was a time when
I hit you with a baseball bat, not on purpose
I swung it, and you stood there; I cried more than you.

But then we were away from:
baseball bats, anger, and people who ask:
how old are you?

We were on a beach in a country where
there are stray cats, a grandma, and
sand that feels like flour.

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GingerTea This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Oct. 1, 2010 at 3:37 pm
commenting on my own work like a cool kid
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