Every year I come upon you
You’re this feeling that I’m forced to feel even though I just want it to be simple
If I don’t look at you in the eyes, you stay as a scabbed wound
But when I lift my head and confront it, I feel small & out of control
It’s no longer a wound but a gushing, pouring fall of blood & disappointment
nothing seems to bridge the gap
nothing seems to fill that void
happy mothers day to the people who tried
Devon Hulick lives in Bend, Oregon and was raised on ranches in Eastern Oregon with his grandparents.
He is 26 years old and uses writing to understand some of the events of his childhood.
He is a Latine, fem male who is learning everyday.