He's still shouting my name outside my door. My hand still grips the doorknob, and I'm hoping it'll break so I'll never be tempted to open this damn door again. I rest my forehead on the door with my eyes closed, counting all the obstacles I've chosen to ignore just so more exhausting ones to come.
1. Talk to my sick mother.
2. Let my brother move back in.
3. Have friendly conversations with classmates.
4. Smile every now and then.
5. Carry an umbrella when it rains, not a beer can.
6. Get a real job.
7. Get my driver's licence.
8. Continue to play volleyball.
9. Cut back on sarcasm and wise comments.
10. Walk with my heels on the ground.
But all I've gotten is:
1. A dead mother
2. A asshole of a brother.
3. Idiots with empty heads
4. An angry look 24/7
5. Drunk when the sky cries
6. A shitty job in a shitty gas station
7. Blisters from walking everywhere
8. Days of wasting my time
9. Dirty looks from people
10. Blue
I count my breaths.
1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10
I count the times he shouts my name.
1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14,15,16,17,18,19... 20, 21, 22...
I put space between the door and I.
I count the steps I can take with flat feet.
1,2,3,4... 5
Count, count, count.
Counting calms me down.
Counting keeps me sane.
Counting keeps my mind busy.
1. Count one
2. Count two
3. Count three
Counting helps me sleep.
But his banging doesn't.
One
two
three
four
five
six
seven
eight
nine
ten
I'm wide awake.
Stop it.
