Calling, knowing the conversation.
Touching every fingertip together as
Anxiously, I wait.

Hello?

Now I must speak, tweak the tone to
Emotion
A hard thing to do if you’re not used to the
Notion
Of pretending to be someone free and content
When I just want to scream my soul’s
Lament
But it’s nowhere to be found,
I’ve put up the posters no calls
No hiding spot behind he stuffed dolls or
The easy bake oven, the innocent that
Should’ve stored that soul tighter than
The secrets of
A coven.
That’s where it is, I guess, in a mess of dark secrets and tests and trials and
Death.
Instead of the scream, I puffed up my chest
Rested the menagerie of thoughts ready to eat and I repeat
What I’ve said, too many times and in too many ways. Bite my lip tear slips away:

Hi, Mom?...Um, I’m not okay.