Conformity

poetry

Going home is strange
and nearly, almost always
leads to regression,
not within me
but within my dad
who mistakes me for the child i was
and forgets that i can make my own choices
but instead expects me to join in
to whatever the action is,
whether that is eating
mylanta for upset tummies
or drinking water
when i don’t want to
or taking a dump
at the appropriate time,
so that after i leave,
i never know how
i make it on my own.

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