broken home
I
lay
in bed
listening
to every yell,
every screamed
swear from these
selfish people I know
simply as my mother and my
father—my sullen, rage-filled parents.
My heart breaks with every crash,
clatter, shatter of the kitchen dishes
and already-cracked, twice-broken
angels in the living room. I cry into
already-soaked, tear-ridden pillows,
clutching my blanket for dear life and
praying that I won't grow up to be as
broken as they seem to be this year.
- dawn
