When the Lights Are Left On

Mon, 07/15/2024 - 22:06 -- Heath.

When I was 15,16,17,    I was turning the lights off in my     mom's house often. 
  She would leave them on late at night and   walk away, off to her room. Off to bed. 
  I have, had, been climate concious since 12,13.  The occurrence occurred more frequently as I  got older. The stress,   perturbance, that  associated itself to my insistince that   the lights be turned off,   levyed through my mom, and   she would be upset that I wanted   the lights off and I   would be upset that it seemed as though   she wanted our  house flooded with light in late   hours of the night. 
  Around that time we began to struggle   to love each other. Small things like the lights ,   big things like this one time,   she sent this photo of me,   on stage during a show choir  performance.  With the camera aimed upwards  from her seat off stage,   while I wore a skirt   several feet above her. 
  I don't know if that's the only photo she took. 
  I don't know if she sent him other photos.
  I don't know if she ever saw up my skirt. 
  I don't know if the camera did. I don't know if he did. 
  I didn't want photos of me as a minor in any   position to be sent to any man  she was flirting with. 
  Whether they had met online or honestly,   that she were romantically engaged with him at all.    And so we argued   on that. 
  And then she put photos of   the three of us, me, 16, and   my siblings whom   were younger on her dating profiles.  And so what started   with the lights being on   and off and on and off   through arguing-  became take these  photos off your dating   profile,as  she continued to   bring men home whilst  My youngest   sibling slept near her  open bedroon door.       

This poem is about: 
Me
My family

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