I used to love being given the wish bone if mum cooked chicken. The story goes you take the bone and share it with someone else by both taking one side and wrapping the bone around your little finger then making a wish before it breaks.
But sometimes , just sometimes, I feel like I AM the wish bone.
Being broken in two - torn apart by conflicting elements of my life.
Everyone demanding a bit of me, and a bit of my time.
As I am torn apart, I am silently screaming - stop, please stop.
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