a sagging sofa lives in her basement room
& a soft bed where she listens to the thunder boom
first built by her father for the whole family
gifted to her as eldest child – she lives there happily
in this room her emotions she need not feign
as her deepest thoughts are allowed free rein
the thick walls obliterate the present
just perfect for this dreamy adolescent
her confidence is hard to win
thus not many are invited in
albums on the floor, books on the shelf
most days she’d rather be by herself
reading stories Kafkaesque
writing poems at her second-hand desk
sometimes she strokes the cinder block wall
brain blank, thinking nothing at all
so peaceful there, all on her own
embraced by bricks of rough grey stone
there the light has an astral quality
lending promise to possibility
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