Strange
Strangers sit in a strange house that’s now to small
years of heights hide
scratched with dull pencils,
into peeling, white, yellowing paint
never got very tall.
A baby monitor listens for non-babies
tight corners follow a torn up brown couch, holding tears
of sprained ankles
a brown black and white dotted dog,
a door knobs squeak to
reveal
White carpet, closer to cream
- the little light brown dots scattered aimlessly
Lofted bed nearing the ceiling- careful not to sit up to fast
Don’t hit your head.
Red and white checkered curtains
blowing above an air conditioner box,
in dire need of cleaning
To many stuffed animals scattered pleasantly
A warped mirror
filled with countless lies
A little girl
Believing every one.
She’s a stranger I think
as she tries to fix
the things she didn’t break
A stranger I think
the girl that sits on the lofted bed, with floral bed sheets
she’s a stranger I think
the girl in my memory.
A stranger with precaution
delicate aspirations
scratched and bruised knees
She says please
and patiently waits her turn
so she doesn't stick out like a sore thumb
which she has been told is the worst thing to become
She’s a stranger I think
as she sits in the warped mirror, which plays a siren song
drawing her in
defenses gone
the deadliest killers draw you in with their charm
sirens so sweet
meaning so wrong.