The Reflection of White Walls

This is not my own couch.

This is not my own roof.

But I find my voice within these white walls...

My reflection, not clear-

Not always my own-

Can speak

Can shout

Can sing

And echo

And echo

And here I sit with my skin as my clothes.

My pen and my book and the air I breathe are my own.

The apartment is alone and I can be lonely.

I clean my own mess-

I fold my own clothes-

I soothe my own aches-

I scrub my own skin-

My tears are not heard.

Except by the walls...

When they fall they soak in

They stain my sheets red.

No steps will wake me from sleep and I am at peace.

Until I am roused by the scream in my chest-

The hate in my head.

Alone and so serene,

Until I hear your voice echo

So far away, I still run from thoughts and hide in my cave...

When I think I might see judgement in her eyes

With the power to break me

or Feel his scream in the air

It burns my will gone...

So I am alone.

With my own eyes and echo

And alone I will stay

Until my reflection climbs out

And swallows me whole.