Domesticated

I watch
My parents hate
Through a lens
Of entitled sadness
Allowing fear
Once festered
To eclipse what good
They’ve done

Though I try
And break their chains
With dreams
Of stunted freedoms
Alive
Despite that innocence
Which whimpers
While it fades

Wounded
Where we lay
In pools
Within our madness
Running red
Like rivers
Of a deep
And bloodied lie

Insular
As these means
To escape those locks
So drastic
And needles
Housing failures
Which scrape
Against these walls

Wrestling
Tethered fates
Atop what pins
Sustain us
Yet pierce
Like hushed resentments
Of convictions
Barely shared –

The lies
And status quo
Sharp
Without much changing
Or a desperate
Quest for answers
Disguised
As easy bail

Digging
Daily knives
Further
When I cower
By avoiding
Moving forwards
To rewind
Two decades back

Knowing
Finding jobs
Or the promise
Of some future
Is equally
As upsetting
As this lifetime
Spent at home.

– J. Pigno

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