My Worlds

I have two different families. They are two completely different worlds. One I love. And one I dread.

In one world I feel love. I’m glad to come home. I never feel like I don’t want to be there. The smells engulf me in memories of cooking and learning how to do laundry. The love that surrounds me lets me know everything is secure. I know that no matter what, I will be fine, and I can relax. The smile on my face isn’t faked, and my laugh isn’t forced. My eyes don’t look for trouble, but observe the world around me. And I can let my guard down, and sleep well at night. I stomp around the house making as much noise as I want, knowing that all is well.

The end of the road is like my finish line as it welcomes me back. The trees surrounding my house change with the seasons. They welcome summer with me, as their leaves turn green, and they start to freeze and say goodbye to the warm days with me, as they lose their leaves in the fall.

In the other world, it’s my jail. The way the bricks stack up look like bars that are surrounding my room. I can’t ever escape the dismay. I can never relax. When I walk, I walk on my toes, so that I don’t make a sound. I just try to slide out of their view, so that I’m not noticed. I’m like the ghost that everyone knows about, but no one ever really sees. If I can just get through the weekend, I’ll be fine.

Two more nights,

One more night,

Oh I get to go home, rolls though my head, just to keep myself sane.

I try to not start anything; I try to just keep calm. But my temper isn’t controlled well. And when it explodes, so does my hope of making it though this weekend. And then it begins, just as before. The screaming, the fighting, but in the end, I always lose. There’s no fighting it. But I try I will always try. If I didn’t have to go there, I wouldn’t, but the system doesn’t allow me to leave. So I go, and I wear my mask, and hope to survive, for 6 more months.

My worlds are completely different. One is heaven, and one is hell.