Post It

I used to run toward my room, wide open, for my life, petrified,

throw myself against the door, feet braced on drywall, arms bent, open palms and fingers curled into the stained carpet,

screaming, throwing things, hard footsteps on the floor, kicking, punching, violent fits

I bounced off the door but the knob didn’t turn

sweating, eyes glued shut, waiting for the monster to go away

 

6×10?

a box with a window and broken vent

four walls and a roof and floor

big 3 ring binder

ink pens

hours and hours and hours

magazine pages ripped out, taped to the walls

twin daybed

single pillow

warm blanket

dead lady bugs in the plate thingy below the light fixture

 

I used to write stories, endless stories

I made up the people I wished were real

nice people, inspired people, people who treat people like people

I hid it in the bottom drawer under junk

they used to sneak in and read and mock

I didn’t care because I didn’t know

but that’s what you get for not hiding it better

to think!

the nerve!

…to dream of something less miserable and NOT hide it better…

 

sometimes you gotta lose til you win

 

 

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