Another Day

I'm a month closer to turning 18 as the fights break out. Arguments here, disagreements there. I want to have friends, to live a life where I can laugh and be comfortable but my mom's mind prevents that. Her distrust and closed-minded way of thinking interfere and all I can hope for is a box of solitude. My room is not longer a place to hide, or sit comfortably at a computer bored for the rest of my life. I know she wants me safe, but that isn't all she wants. I leave no trace of having friends but the echos that ring through the empty house I live in. Empty, unlike other homes. Erika's home is empty too, vacant in the rooms and the walls show no family past, is her life like mine?

Everyday I used to walk into my home and clean what I can before retreating into my room for alone time. Time spent always with an aging face and a sickening screen where my friends weren't real or tangible. I try to break free but she reels me back in a clawed grip. She says move out, she screams and yells, is unreasonable, throws tantrums but then throws on not a mask but an entire cloak whenever someone is over. She has no dignity, to sense of manners, and it ruins me. She learns from that stupid spick. That piece of shit she married over marrying the wonderful person who I came to call dad for so long, but so suddenly left my life.

I search for my home and at the same time I suppose my heart, since home is where the heart is. Where is it when your comfort levels have dropped to your skin feeling like a grating sand paper coat? Where is it when your eyes twitch with a sting and your throat vomits things that don't fit? Where is it when insides feel like dust and the rest of you seems more like plastic? Where is it when your own family doesn't act like a family, but a group of uncivilized maroons.