There’s this pink blanket I have
Worn and weathered like a kind old woman.
I had it when I had no teeth,
I had it when the only emotions I could articulate were agony and joyous laughter.
Every time we left the house that blanket had to be in my grubby little hands,
Now my mother can no longer pick me up like she used to and I have grown into my nose.
It sits on my bed, duller and rougher than I remember
filled with years worth of tears, anger and a yearning to be aged 10 forever.
longing to hear me laugh with my whole chest like I used to.

She writhes in discomfort shoved between my bed and the wall
I turn 16 today.
I grab her in a fistfull of fabric and scream into her exhausted threads and broken stitches
Tears of a grieving child roll into my mouth,
salt on the tip of my tongue.
“What do you want to be when you grow up?”