The child

I don't like the color pink,

but it was her favorite color.

 

did I abandon her?

is that why I feel so unwell?

 

did I hurt her?

did I put her through too much?

did she feel it?

when did she feel it?

how long has she felt it?

does she still feel it?

is she even there?

 

"I wish I could warn her!"

 

I wish I could know her.

sit down with her for tea,

swim with her in the ocean...

 

her curls are still mine

her stuffed animal still sits on my shelf

her blanket is still in my bed.

 

but I don't see her in my eyes anymore

 

maybe I killed her.

maybe she hates me for that.

 

maybe that's why I don't like pink.

This poem is about: 
Me

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