The latch turns, a sound like a bruise,
And the air in the hallway begins to thin.
I am a ghost in the house I call mine,
Ducking from shadows that let the wolf in.
A mother’s mercy is a heavy, glass door,
She sees a son, but I see the storm.
She offers a chair, she offers the floor,
While I wait for the cold to become the norm.
But listen: the walls of this room are not me.
The blood in my veins is a river, not a cage.
There is a version of life where I am finally free,
Far from the noise and the weight of his rage.
Hold on to the breath that he tries to steal,
The exit is coming, though the hallway feels long.
The hurt is a witness, the anger is real,
But the end of this chapter is where you belong.