soft serve
sun baked motel
peeling walls
of pastel painted hell.

tear stains from
a child’s eyes
They laugh and drink
she sleeps and cries

motel pool
the only solace
of the eternal the heat wave.

baking in the Florida sun
day after dull, dreary day.

she views her mother
as a friend
nothing more
no means to an end
no hope in store.

a party rages down the block
she watches from her balcony
thick night air broken by gunshots.

moms drunk & laughing
1:34 am on the clock

she’ll never see
a Christmas tree
with presents stashed beneath
the closest thing she has to Christmas
is the food truck that rolls around
every other week

the closest thing she has to friends
are stuck in the same broken homes
when her moms out partying
and they’re all gone
she finds herself alone

in a dimly lit motel room
TV blaring cartoons
purple and pink light from the sign
“Vacant—2 Beds, 2 Bed Rooms”

she’ll never have her dad
come and kiss her goodnight
she barely remembers him,
a blurry face
mom and him always in a fight

awake mid morning,
weary skies and rain today.

she just wants to go out and play
she dreams of being somewhere else

what it’s like living another life,
on another day

but not today.

sorry darling, not today.