in the kitchen, she moves like a storm
quiet, yet loud in her own way
her footsteps so loud and abrupt
she does as she pleases
leaving crumbs in her wake
clattering pots and pans
shes allowed to leave clothes on the floor
to take up space
to growl at the sky when the sun doesnt shine right
and we-
we are just the air around her
invisible unless needed
her mood dictates the mood of our home
we move hoping not to disturb her
for it will shape our breath
define our hours
make or break the day before its even begun
we smile while the tears form in our eyes
we hold still when we want to break
we tear ourselves apart to fit the form of her needs
shaping our lives to her wants
until we forget the shape of who we are