Average Jane


There aren’t enough stitches to heal the wound that he has left on my heart. The gaping hole I have that my father would have filled if he wasn’t eaten alive by his own demons.

Stitched together just one day prior, teetering on my one good foot, unbalanced, looking for something to hold on to, I fall onto a hard silence that fills this moderate house. Crutching across the wood floor, intoxicated on little white pills, and pills for the pills, and sleep that doesn’t heal and healing that will go so much more slowly knowing that him, my dad, “Daddy”… wants none of it. Wants none of me.

So I will heal. My foot will heal. Both will bear the scars…


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