I was home from college with strep throat this weekend, so here is this.
sheltered
He doesn't come back.
Neither does Momma.
I don't get to ask where he went.
Where she went.
Why she left.
Why she didn't take me with her.
I don't get to ask her if leaving me was because she loved me too much,
or because she loved Soda and Pony too much,
or because she loved Dad too much.
I don't get to ask her why she never saved me.
I guess it doesn't matter now.
I'll never get to ask why.
Why he did what he did.
Why he did it to me.
Why he liked the pain,
the begging,
the vulnerability.
None of it makes sense.
I guess that was his plan.
