ORIGAMI HEART

My first smile made its grand debut
at 7 p.m. this evening. It only took
my mother’s hand squeezing mine
and my father returning from the
grocery with a bouquet of yellow
sunflowers. I have sobbed my way
through this day for no real reason
other than my own fear of nothing.
I have convinced myself I am folding
inward, that my body has reached
its final hour, that I will buckle
until I am spent. This is no poem.
This is the heart of a sick girl,
nauseated and sinking in horror.

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