dumb blonde

i listen to dolly parton and cat stevens and--

broken plates are a family-wide love language.

i should apologize.

i don't want to.

do you remember when i split my calf on the neighbors fence?

i flipped my bike going 10 in a 25 and butterflied myself,
and you were mowing the lawn.
you were mowing the lawn and--

i was afraid of you, not the blood.

'he might need stitches,'

and even then i knew stitches meant money meant fast food meant--

'it's not that bad.'

and no amount of star wars band-aids could've prevented the six inch slice that makes me feel strange in shorts.

and we'll all laugh about the fear in my eyes over easter dinner.

~~happy father's day.~~

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