#some poetry ish that I don't this is good or finished but that I cannot stand to look at any longer

[milo-is-rambling]

I have this feeling in my chest. A muscle straining in between my ribs. I know logically it's coming from my shoulders. I know. I know. You told me to sit up straight. I know. I don't listen. So I get this pain. It's one of those pains where I can't change anything to fix it while it's happening. All I can do I press my fingertips to the muscle and push. Some pain can be used to alleviate others. That's something I've found. Mom used to cry every time she talked about her father getting older. I remember every thanksgiving, driving home from dinner at her parents house, listening to Christmas music on the radio with my mom crying in the passenger seat. She says it doesn't scare her anymore. Nothing scares her anymore. She sounds like me in school. I still remember telling my art teacher that I wanted to cut myself so she couldn't let me have a pencil sharpener. Didn't scare me to tell her. Didn't scare me later when I loudly told her to go fuck herself when she put one on my desk. Didn't even scare me walking my backpack to the office or getting suspended for a day. It made me feel sickly proud of myself. None of the kids in that class looked at me the same after. Or the teachers. I dropped out a year later. Some pain can alleviate others. I remember you telling me when I got home that we could hang out the day I was suspended. I think I turned you down to sit alone in my room. I wish I had gone with you. Some pain is still pain. Like driving my older brother from his school to your funeral. That pain is still pain. Watching your son cry in front of the friends he outgrew years ago just because they knew you. You were always a better dad to other peoples kids. We always said that. Maybe it has something to do with the personalities we inherit from our parents. Like how I cry every time someone talks about their father getting older. The concept of grandparents puts me in bed for a day. Don't even get me started on weddings. Or funerals. Or my own graduation. None of it's the same. Some joy is still pain. I don't think I'll forget that.