mY fIGhtHoUse

On the outside our house, it might have had the white picket fence,

but if everyone knew the truth, then they would have felt dense.

So, the home is supposed to be a lighthouse, a safe haven,

though my family was cowardly and craven.

Unfortunately, I was anything but free,

because the longer you know me the more, you'll see.

On the outside, to the world, my parents sounded like angelic hosts,

but on the inside of our home, I swear, they were ghosts.

Ghosts who fought with tooth and nail,

my childhood was no happy sail.

Instead of shedding light in my life,

my fighthouse only brought me perfect strife.