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Kaijaii Gomez Wick

People keep trying
to talk to me about their feelings.
“I’m so sorry,”
“I want you to know…”
“I'll pray for…”
I don’t want you to apologize
or to tell me that you feel bad, too,
or that you’re praying to someone
I don’t believe in
or to offer me help
in the form of
phone calls
in-person meetings
physical touch
condolences.
I don't want your feelings
or your rituals of grief
your routines of “You can talk to me—”
But I can’t.
I don't want you to even see
the blood, much less
shove your hand into the raw nerve
to make me feel.
I want you to not notice me,
not talk to me,
not offer food I don't want
and can't eat,
not offer hugs I don't want
and won't accept,
not say the platitudes
and the sentiments people only say
because they don’t know anything else to say

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