a poetic prose
i am shackled to the gifts you two gave me, and i hate you both for it. release me now! please. i am sorry for yelling. i’ll beg if i have to, even if my voice is nothing but a whisper on a falcon’s wing. i have so much anger to get a hold of. you two gave me too much. it hangs like dust on the ceiling fan in my sister’s guest bedroom. i need a chair to reach and clean it. but the chairs are far too heavy. how did she carry them into this house? i guess i am the only one who inherited weak wrists from some ancestor i will only be able to name after death’s first kiss. dragging these chairs is ruining my sister’s floors. she has not noticed all the scratches yet. maybe she can’t tell the difference between what she has made and mine. i’d do better if you’d just help me pick up the damned chair or lift me, so i can reach the ceiling. but you both are shackled to the curses your parents gave you. how can you know how to help me if your parents were never taught how to help you? mom’s trying at least. but dad just can’t see me.
i want to express my heartfelt gratitude to you for taking the time to read my work. it really means the world to me. feel free to clap, comment, and/or highlight; your support is genuinely valued on my end. if you are curious on how to and/or willing to further support me. you can buy me a pen. i also value good ol’ fashion word of mouth, so please feel free to…
