You don’t want to talk about it.
I think we get that from each other.
You don’t want anyone to worry about you.
I think we get that from each other.

You won’t let me tell you I’m sorry, and get angry at the world with you. And I get why you feel that, I really do.
But I had to find a way. Some way. To tell you I care.

We’re not alike in any way. Except the minor details which bring the big picture into focus.
And so I think you’ll understand why I’m writing this here.

In case you’re wondering, Sister o’ mine, I’m fucking angry at the world. And if I could beat it up for you, I would.
I may be the little one, but I can stand up for you too, you know….

Holding Hands

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