The little girl in me is crying for attention again. Her shoes are untied, and the teddy bear drips from her hands like the phone in mine. She’s itching her head, where the soft cool damp hairs flow through her fingers like my bedsheets. She had the real parents, the ones who cared. Sometimes I wonder what happened to them. When did life become so nonexistent that you didn’t even want me anymore? Did I get that independent? Because right now crawling in your arms looks like the only safe heaven prepared for me. I could still fill them. I’m small, remember? I’m smaller than the rest yet you treat me like I’m an ever growing goliath. I’m sorry, I won’t grow anymore if it means that love only comes in segments in my peanut butter and jelly sandwich everyday. The next time the tears hit the pavement I’ll be tying my shoes by myself, letting the phone slip past my hands and onto the floor where it’s intended to be. I won’t care what you think anymore.
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