All it takes is one more scream,
and there goes the hairbrush,
the toaster, the broom
snapped across my knee
like Bo Jackson
splintering a baseball bat
in half.
The dismal daylight,
The constant confines,
The time of year.
I am not who I thought I would be,
and though my love
is like a steel cable drawn taut,
I can’t help but rage against
my circumstances of being.
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