the closet

the place on fifth avenue where i used to get away,
to put as many physical barriers between us as i could,
after all, she alreaday put all the emotional ones up first,
what was left?
it was my turn.
the place where i'd write my bad girl letters to her,
the ones damning her to hell and cutting her to pieces,
the letters that she was never intended to actually read,
and the letter that was accidentally found in the 8 month old hands of my little niece who'd gotten into my backpack and carried it to forbidden ground...
needless to say, we talked about that one in family counseling that month.
the place where i'd sit, and feel relief for a few minutes alone and with my head on my knees
the place where i'd sit and pray, that is when i used to pray.
the place in a time when i never said "goddamnit!"
the place in a time of falling for my first love in 9th grade, the guy that mom never liked, that may have very well been the reason i was infatuated...aw, defiance...
the place in a time when she didnt' know how to deal with me...oh wait...she still doesnt'
the place in a time at 15 when she had me taking zoloft so she could be a lazy parent
the place in a time that i took zoloft and felt like a zombie, never happy or sad
the place in a time when she had me switched to prozac and then i felt happy all the time to the point that i ignored problems.
the place i'd go to...to sit...to write...most importantly, just to think.