23 in the rain

in the rain

I was becoming so small

in such a big, big world.

I was a balloon that a kid

lost hold of,

drifting to death without a care.

 

I was this fragile piece of glass

that my Mother could spit on

or manage to polish with words,

just a glance to crack my exterior.

 

My lip swelled between my teeth,

my heart melting against my rib cage,

sour and uncomfortable.

I could hear my voice,

 

this quiet whisper,

hopelessly crying for help

within the confines of

my used to be home:

 

“I’ll be out by tomorrow night.”