Ants On A Log


His lips moving is all I can see. I told him I wanted ice cream and that my thoughts aren’t the way I’d like them to be. He just squeezes my hand and says something that goes through me like he never said anything at all. When I was a kid, my mom would let us make Ants On A Log and I just loved them. I couldn’t eat enough of em. And I thought it was so funny we were eating something that had pretend ants on them. These days she cries and smiles and nods encouragingly at my poetry even though she kinda doesn’t agree. or maybe she does. She’s a real lady. Polite and smiley. Speaks up against immorality and goes to church every Sunday. Always the last to leave. I’ve never had that in me. I yell and scream and left church as a teenager when…

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