Poetry from Brianna Dawn.

old cold

sometimes one of my secret
fears, is that if a child grows
in me, they will be born
with my anxiety and tears
mixed up in their blood
and throughout the years
it will all rise to the surface
and they will also feel
that old cold, the one
that leaves me feeling
detached from me, leaves
me feeling a little lost
in what was, is, and
may or may not be

written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: inheritance

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