I'm back at my childhood's residence,
Except I was forced to be a child of adult-like essence.
I'm back in my chambers full of material blessings,
Except it was a trade off for lack of my handlers' emotionally mature presence.

Home has always been a location, not a feeling,
Because in this house, I must stay quiet to omit the mental beatings.
Home will always be known to mistreat me,
Because unless I am perfect, I'm subject to apathetic briefings.

I have never been inclined to heal or move on,
And I won't be until every part of me is withdrawn.
I am not independent enough to 'make it on my own',
And that's the leverage that keeps them mercilessly enthroned.

To be loved is to be known, but you have never taken interest in perceiving me.
You have never been considerate of my morals, thoughts, or feelings.
To be known is to be loved and I'm thankful for your providence of middle-class necessities,
But I fantasize your expressions of love that would only be experienced after a 19-year-old's tragedy.



Friday 20 December 2024