Words that Hide Beneath the Syllables of an Uneasy Parent
Reading in between the lines of words that form a stuttering agreement.
Mutterings accompanied by weak smiles and hesitant nods that quickly digest themselves into memories
that is followed by the dreaded ambience of a goodbye,
in the presence of stuffed bags that dig their claws into the carpet,
who morph into the soft fibers that hope for a change of heart.
But, I will not stay in a room that fills itself with routine and the familiarity of an unfamiliar childhood.
A place where younger years climb the walls like frightened spiders,
and the floor walks across me,
where the happy eyes of unfamiliar frames follow my every move from behind reflective transparency.
Today I will walk across these floors
and give birth to a creak of a floorboard that calls my name.
In a fish bowl called home that has never seen the rise of a day where it is synonymous with refuge.
I will turn dreary door knobs and fill this house with the draft of resolution,
and put myself on the other side of the boundary.
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