• The letter burns a hole in my desk.
    The words,
    Tearing chunks out of my heart
    As if each of them had sharpened points.
    Tears pour from my eyes
    Like waterfalls.
    And my parents don't understand
    Why I am sad.
    Above all,
    This scalding letter,
    Ready to enflame my hand
    Should be happy.
    Should be a new source of happiness.
    But all it does
    Is leave a nice,
    Hollow,
    Burning,
    Sharp,
    Edge to my desk.
    And my heart.
    What murders me, though,
    Is the fact that I asked for this.
    That I prayed for this.
    And as I sit,
    Crying,
    All I can feel is ungreatful,
    Selfish,
    Horrid,
    And the exact thing
    I want to leave behind.