am i a young boy or a young man? the only answer that i have is i am alone and i am afraid
night is closing in i want my mother i want my father but does my father want me?
another answer i don’t have cold seeping into my bones feeling both too small and too big for my skin
my wrists and hands look like his the lights are on but the house burnt down long ago
and i sit at a table made from charred and twisted wood waiting for my father to eat with me to even look at me
but he never shows because of course he doesn’t and i sit at that table until i am a young boy again waiting for my father to carry me to bed and tuck me in
and still he is not there just me and empty plates full of rotting food and all these broken promises
the broken heart of a young boy still beats within my chest wondering what i did wrong when it never was me at all just a selfish man that never should have been a parent
and i stop waiting then packing that particular wound with cotton and whispered apologies promising to never let it happen again
and my knees creak when i stand fitting my skin like i should an old heart in a young body
and the lights are on but the house burnt down long ago
and and and i tell the remains of this house that never was my home that i’m just stepping out for a smoke