Her shoes are lost,
one in the closet, one out of the door,
one step to freedom before her parents
pick them up and throws them,
oblivious to the bang when they hit the wall.
BANG;
the knocking of adolescent hands,
on the closet door.
BANG;
the knocking that fell on deaf ears,
when the tears and pleas weren't sufficient.
BANG;
the children that want a chance at living their lives
in the warm embrace of their parents
arms,
and not in the warm embrace
of the fire;
burning their coffin to the ground.
Unlock the closet, and let
your child breathe.
They need space,
but they also need guidance to love who they
want.
-Kinac.xo
