A childhood home
with a full pantry
a white picket fence
maybe even a puppy
a soft home
not full of any screaming
no hunger pains, and no hitting
I dream of a lot of things but my dreams are just pipe dreams
I have no clean clothes
the other kids make fun of my hygiene
Maybe someday I won't be the oddity
I'll challenge the cards dealt to me
I'll negotiate a deal with destiny
for now
I will continue wearing long sleeves
I will find solace in this fated tragedy
About the Creator
angelica lesly
‘Don’t—don’t go.
Don’t carry it to someone else this time.
Tell me about it if it’s something human.
Let me into your grief. - Robert Frost
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By S. A. Crawford3 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
a "soft" home. So beautifully worded.