i look at you, both of you, in my mind’s eye, all you have, the two of us, mz and i, mikey and ioanna, are these the gifts i was never given? father, sibling, sister, brother?
and yet, and yet, listening to rage against the machine, “anger is a gift”
i wouldnt have any of you without this, without the anger of living, of being, of being distraught and confused and in constant pain.
how do i square this? how do i give you the lessons i learned without the pain that i am afflicted with?