Unsent
The holiday comes
like junk mail addressed
to a previous tennant.
Though the intended recipient
hasn’t lived here in years,
I almost give in.
I want to tear it open
in hopes of finding
what I already know
it won’t hold.
There will be no admission of guilt.
No truth or apology
folded at the seams.
No:
What I did was wrong.
You didn’t make it up.
You didn’t deserve it.
You were just a kid.
I was a monster.
I would take it back if I could.
I leave it sealed
and toss it out.
Monday is trash day.
.
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Lots of layers in this!