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.