Living in the Basement [of Myself]

By Amanda Addo

 

Moon over the farm,

I'm still here, in this rotating door of neurosis

The pain festering like the furnace

on a hot summer day, except it never ends.

Miles of road in this mind, what a beauty to hitchhike in

it for eternity. I camp in it every day, the void of

unexplainable shame turning me over again. I'm the

mess they can't figure out. I'm the mistake I can't fix.

It's too hard to match the steepness of my heart, when

it's dark in this part of the house.

 

The house. It's large but I am small. Like a stain on the

wallpaper. Maybe it came inside, like a stranger the

day we had good behavior served on the plate dad

screamed at us for ruining. Maybe it showered with me when mom

cried the pain of disappointment from her eyes. Before I

existed. Maybe it crawled in

bed with me, year after year and the four walls

carrying thoughts I never speak because they're

too burdensome. I carry it down stairs to the basement.

It keeps me company there. I'm me here. I unfold the laundry of

emotions holding over the masks from today's errands.

Our song of isolation sings to us,

it hums "it's where you belong”.

 

Previous Next