Walking down the road.
The only light
comes from
the street lamps
overhead.
People glare at me
out their
glowing front windows.
People with
perfect lives;
their families
unbroken.
They want nothing
to do with
like me.
It's midnight now.
I reach the
great oak tree.
The moss feels
squishy and
moist against
my hands.
I come here
every night now.
This used to be
our tree house.
We pretended
we were
princesses.
Both from
broken families,
but our
hearts remained
intact.
I used to come
out here and
sleep, when the
screaming
would never
stop.
Now that you're
gone,
they took our castle away.
Where am
I to go
now
when the
fighting
doesn't
stop?