Disgusted with the way
You pulled my hair out of my face
I looked up to you
But right now
I am looking down at you.

I am seven years old
And my big Levittown style home
Surrounded by a white picket fence
In all it's ironic glory
Consumes me alive.

You always told me
This is what big kids do.
But I am not a big kid yet.

You always told me
This is just a game
But it isn't fun anymore.

You always told me
This is normal
But this is the farthest thing from it.

Now "home" and "family"
Mean nothing to me.