ѕσmє wαtєr
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I'm standing here, looking up.
On the second to last step,
In our new, cookie cutter house.
If I were to move to the left,
The moan of my shifted weight would blow my cover.
But if I would have moved to the right,
I would have to make the choice of going back to bed,
Where my parents left me 6 hourѕ ago.
"It's 8 o'clock honey, go to sleep"
But if I were to go back upstairs,
I would have to skip every other step,
To get to the top. But that's not all,
When I get to the top,
Id have to tip-toe the rest of the way,
Past my parents room,
Past our little t.v. stand
And once i got to the bathroom,
Id have to take a step,
A step as far as my legs would reach.
To skip over the rickety board that would scream my presence.
So I stand here.
Deciding.
My other decision is to go down,
Where I would find our living room,
Our kitchen,
Our laundry room,
And our guest bathroom.
My initial destination was the kitchen.
I just wanted water.
YOU ARE READING
Stuck In Your Own Head
PoetryA few carefully selected poems, short stories, thoughts, and memories