This is for my father.

I see you and my veins run cold,

a shiver down my back,

the seat I take is yellow

but my vision is painted black.

You ask me why I’m crying

How did you expect me to reply?

Did you want to hear what color the sky was

or how food tastes from the outside?

I can’t look at you without seeing my face:

a haunted house

The curve of your smile is the shape of my lips

you’re the reason people are afraid of me

because I might end up like this.

My cries are creaky floorboards,

my silence a stalker’s night,

I’m a ghost

I’m a ghost

I’M A GHOST

They scream at me on sight!

I’m dead with beating organs;

I’m ripped open from being alive.

I’m splintered wood,

DON’T TOUCH ME!

let the tears trickle down my face.

“Babygirl, why are you crying?”

“Daddy, I hate this place.”