My mother invited me to my molester's wedding.
(I just replied,
"No, it's okay. I don't really like him.")
There are so many things I'd like to say,
but I can't bring myself to write poems about it yet.
Maybe never.
I am losing strength with brittle bones
and a shotgun wedding.
Why do people do things like this?
Why do I live in a world where I've grown to be afraid of telling the truth?
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