I love you backwards and forwards,
as
different as we are.
As
much I think we should be the sort
of
friends each other’s kids call auntie
in
the future.
Despite
bond,
I
feel as if I failed
because
I haven’t convinced you
that
my life isn’t pathetic or pointless.
I
suspect you think I’m praying
(in
some secret mind corner
I
don’t acknowledge due to personal politics)
to
have this atypical body repaired
like
a common household appliance
by
someone in a long, white lab coat
who
sports the letters MD after their name.
I am not sure what makes you think she thinks your life is pathetic or pointless simply because your body is "atypical", because I know she doesn't.
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