Mom and Dad just had another fight.
I was too scared to tell them
None of them, as usual, had been right.
But Mama is “psychotic”
And Dad’s face is carved of stone
And they aren’t open-minded
So they never will atone.
I’m sitting upright in the bathtub
Ignoring all the pounding on the door.
I would be outside and playing
But the dark sky is a bore.
I should be outside and praying
But I just don’t know what for.
I have a world inside my head
That I wish forced its way out.
My world’s the only pleasant thing
I’m brought to think about.
I’m sick of my ears ringing;
I would rather do without.
Brother’s jabbering as usual.
I know it’s rude to shut him out.
But I’m safe behind that bathroom door
I don’t know what I’d do without.
There I can do my crying
Without the constant, petty prying.
I can’t manage all my feelings
And so there I punch them out.
They always come back,
Unlike the many people I loved,
Who laugh at me so loftily
From where they float, above.
I don’t care about their halo
If they act like I’m below.
So I suppose I’ve got some running
To do. They won’t care to know.
I never knew what it felt like
To never care at all.
So by these cold, dead people
I have always been enthralled.
And now they do their waiting,
For me to run right back.
Because I might be running faster
But I’m on a circular track.