Just another fight.

I wasn't even in the room when her voice began raising.

Just grab my bag and slip on my already-tied shoes.

Grab the door and slam it closed after me.

Actions speak louder than words.

Trek up the hill. Force thespeakers deepinto my ringings ears.

My hair stands up from humidity and stress but I keep my confidence.

Stumble along the sidewalk and sit on the guardrail.

Legs pressed against my chest in a hug.

Don't cry. Whatever you do. Don't cry.

Watch the grass sway with semi-trucks.

The signs and ground tremble with the cars, trucks and vans.

I can't help but picture her being the cause in their places.

The bugs are sprinting and colliding with sidewalk cracks and feet.

Just as I run into her arms,they block me;as I try to escape this trap of a house.

I lock eyes with strangers and wonder if thedrivers with their windows down

can hear the bitchingat the bottom of the hill.

Poor father.

But he knows if I stayed, I'd rip my vocal cords in effort to be heard.

Screaming and crying like a small child.

Please. I just repeat.

But here.

My guardrail.

This is my house, my rules.

She can't blame me for finances.

She can't here.

Everything's free here...