17 at this homely prison

at this homely prison

As my twin and I made it

to the side street our house

sat on, over the front porch

where a few of my belongings

now sat, where the back door

stood ajar, Father stood

waiting.

 

Like a tower looming,

such fury in his hands,

my heart tightening in

my chest as my hands

began to shake,

he

waited.

 

My eyes started to burn

with fresh tears,

my teeth grinding.

Was this what I meant to him,

objects to throw away

because I begged for

freedom?

 

Was I not his

daughter

any more than he

was my father?

Was I not something

precious

anymore?

 

I lifted myself up the steps

carefully, keeping my tail

ducked. I disappeared

into the bathroom

before he could speak,

my feet brisk and

stumbling

to hide from

the suffocating

heat that radiated

over every inch of the house.

Sitting on the counter of the sink,

itching to

break,

I pulled my knees

to my chest

and sunk my teeth

against my kneecap.

I kept my eyes trained

on my vice, crumbling

down.