it happens everyday
same time same place
down goes the work bag
out comes the brown bag
dishes pile high
like the cheap wine in your glass
leaves no stain
but the scent i can smell
as soon as i step foot in our front door
whether your home or not
so deeply pervading
my mind
no say in the invasion
im out of the equation
im just a "child"
but tell me mommy
does a child
feel theie soul crumple
feel their heart stumble
over the image in their heart
and the image in their eyes?
does a child
have to wear their headphones in their own home
to blur out the slams you make
the hits your take
against my barriers
ive built so strong
i can pretend nothings wrong
that i always move on
but i cant pretend
not to hate the sound
of liquids pouring
or slamming doors
cracking your neck
pulling your hair
someone get me out of here
the hold you have on me I cannot tear
away from
mom
please
stop