Thoughts of Running Away From Home

A Sonnet

Sometimes Mom made me so mad I saw red,

big blotches that obscured all my senses,

and I’d cry hot tears till the anger bled,

walling up my mind with stronger fences.

*

Sometimes Dad would cut me hard, curt, and cold

with every word wielded like a sharp knife

and praise was rationed like hard-won prize gold

that I couldn’t take to the afterlife.

*

Sometimes my parents saw what they wanted

rather than what was really before them,

and I’ll likely always be left haunted

because I couldn’t be their one grand gem.

*

That July I thought I’d run, not look back,

and disappear into the midnight black.

Originally published at https://vocal.media.