i wish i could be sweet, tolerable, and run into your arms. safe, like a mother should be, how a mother should care.
but nothing really changes. i grow taller. i am bigger than you in stature. i am still a kid on my bedroom floor, so scared.
picking ceramic out of the carpet. pushed and pulled so hard i get rug burn. kneeling on colored pencils and grains of rice. pressing my face into the corner of the walls. welts that don't last long enough for anyone to really notice. bruises and torn pages. nothing truly mine.
i barricade the door, i run away, i tuck myself into the smallest of places.
but nothing can protect me like distance. i get a key to my own room. i am broken into. i am still a kid on my bedroom floor.
and i sob, lonely, accompanied by my radio and my reading. rapunzel in his tower. angel with clipped wings, withering from disuse.
picking at myself, feathers and tears may fall, but are they mine? its just rain. i smile, brushing my tears away.
