being angry at the universe is like being angry at the wind for raining
I can’t help but think of how you would love the Marvin Gaye stamps we got for our wedding invitations
you’d love the shades of purples
greys and eucalyptus notes
statement shoes and pops of color throughout
tying knots into forget me-s
grudges are too hard to hold with these small hands
but I promise not to let the memories slip through
like
slip through like—
instead they will be sandpaper
anger doesn’t look good on the genes you passed down to me
and it’s not in my nature to scowl
but every now and then
I decide I will never forgive blank
he/she/it/them/blank/no name
entity of some sort or not
you’d tell me that staying mad won’t solve anything
but if it did
I’d never wash my face
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