Sign my cast! They sign with a sharpie
The black ink spreads across my arm
To form a perfect signature
Iiza your car is here
I rush in with all my gear

Next day school repeats
A third-grade day, not much to say
Sign my cast! They sign with a sharpie
The black ink spreads across my arm
To form a perfect signature
Iiza your car is here
I rush in with all my gear

Next day school repeats
A third-grade day, not much to say
Sign my cast! They sign to form an almost perfect signature, but instead, it ends up scribbled
all over my arm
“We have to go”
I remember that line coming from my mother like no others before
My ears ring
I tell myself I know, but my 8-year-old brain likes to shield me from the truth
My mother shoves everything to the side and takes the back entrance,
“Get in the car, your father is waiting”
I know, I know I tell myself,
I’m not going to ask any questions, I tell myself
The thoughts replay in my mind over and over
All I can say is that I am blinded,
Hidden from grief
I know, I know,
I rush in my seat
I rush in as if my feet are falling off
I rush like the rapid, non-stop beat that is inside me
Why?
I know
No Questions