I live beneath a roof 

That is slowly caving in. 

My mother and I. 

The house creaks

Like growing pains. 

Bones, it says. Not 

Yet. Time, I beg,

To go by faster. 

How can we live

Like this any longer?

Leave, it says. 

I am ready. Yet—

—My mother. This house. 

Suddenly, I remember

When I was smaller,

How big it all felt. 

My mother once sang

Me to sleep every night. 

And growing older, 

Is more scary than staying. 

Stay, they say. 

Like a prayer. Relief 

Floods everything.  

Maybe I am imagining

The caving roof. 

The guilt. And then, 

I am drowning. 

Outgrowing. 

The door is closing behind me. 

Yet—-