BY ELAINE DAVIS
When I was about fourteen
I learned
To sing
Myself
To sleep
My voice in the darkness
Belting Ingrid Michaelson
For only
My stuffed animals
To hear
And sometimes I still cry
Wetting the pillow
Sobbing
Because of the weight of the world
Feels like it’s all on my shoulders
But Kate Nash is now
Far more frequent
Than tears
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