and the weeds grow

i get choked up on the words
of missing you
and from puking up all that sorrow

what i wouldn’t do
to be about 9 months younger
for one more day

back to school season rolls in
and parents celebrate new milestones
and grades and heights reached

i grimace in jealousy
and cripple over in pain

the only thing that i see growing
are the weeds around her grave.

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