At her house on a broken day
Stood there watched converse
They talked simple words
Walked into my old bedroom
And my eyes wanted to lose sight
Gritty walls covered with smudges from soiled finger tips
Mickey Mouse imprinted face was a light grey
Remember the day we returned and she had freshly painted these walls we gave mommy such praise
Now the paint leaves smears of new memories I’m going to have to struggle to erase
I sit in a chair and look at the stripped ground
They took out the carpet; what were they trying to hide?
The windows are broken with jagged glass surrounding the rims of the panes
I wonder what kind of havoc these people created in my once innocent room
I ponder of what kind of hell did these people raise in my once child proof room
I am sitting in the pit of a horrid plan
I look to the bed lying in the center of the room
Draws with labels of names
Fake hair make up clothing it all lies about with no purpose
I’ve been so strong these past months
But, all of this confirms my doubts
My mother has indeed turned our old home into a whore house

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