Sometimes after hot showers,I lay on the carpeted floor of my small apartment.There is nothing to it, but I like to do it. Damp hair, unclothed, breathing.Father waits for mother, but she never came for him.I close my eyes and dream of the floor swallowing me whole, my body becoming the carpeted floor.Mother waits for another, and so it goes.And even after all the hurting and the lies, a child was born.Perhaps out of compromise, or just another loveless night.Or day, who knows, I wasn’t there. The walls grow closer while I am alone.

This poem is about: 
My family


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