broader, stronger than my mother’s hard to sleep on, never cried on I slouch because if I don’t, these shoulders might tear through her silk like great black wings, the birth of an imposter the devil in the shape of a lark Related Posts The Consequences of My State of Being: Explained by the Word ‘Alive’ March 17, 2023 “Ethan Frome” by Edith Wharton March 4, 2023 Mistakes Were Made (But Not By Me) by Carol Tavris and Elliot Aronson March 4, 2023 Write A Comment Cancel Reply Save my name, email, and website in this browser for the next time I comment. Δ