Big Thoughts For a Small Wind

The wind blows in my hair Pushes it to my face Can't think about that now I have important things to do Get inside No I have to sit outside I have to think Inside is choices Inside is freedom lost Out here I have to decide What I want to do I can't think with this wind But going inside means choosing They sent me out here to make a choice Now I have to make it now. Green walls, pink walls, what color the walls? Here, there, where should all the furniture go? I told them I wanted it like my old room But they won't let me have that So I have to make a choice I "Can't keep anything the same" My parents think they're helping me forget Our small little home on Cherry St. We can't afford that one anymore We moved across town To a house half the size "Getting my own room is a miracle" they claim I just want to go home Not inside, home Inside will never be my home They just had to do all these renovations On our Cherry St. house 'Til they couldn't even pay for it anymore. They can't pay for anything. I almost had to live with someone else. I'm afraid if I go in I have to choose It can't get any worse anyway It's not my room no matter how it looks I go in, say a few things, then run out I want to see my real room It's still there Same pale pink walls I was "living in an eraser" Same white carpet I was "standing on milk" My parents like color I like keeping color simple I actually wouldn't care about the changes If I hadn't wanted it to be the same I go out. It's still for sale. My old room is for sale. My memories are for sale. Can't anyone see that? It was all because of the stupid renovations To make it look like it could be on HGTV (WHICH THEY DON'T EVEN WATCH BECAUSE THEY PRIORITIZED HARDWOOD FLOORS OVER TELEVISION) I'm so mad at them now I want to move out I'm 16 now, can I? Should I? Will I? No. They're my parents. I can't leave them. Yes I can. No I can't. Now I'm torn. I could live in our old house! I'm being ridiculous. If two people with jobs can't afford it, neither can one teenager without work I go back to my prison It will never be home to me "I'm back" I say. "I'm home" I don't. "I'm home" I used to. "I'm home" I thought long ago. That was a month ago. I can never go back home. The thought lingers in my head Forever It echoes and haunts and it repeats and taunts Until I can't take it anymore I wait until my parents leave I go to the kitchen I get a knife Before I realized it, the first cut was made. I can never go back home. No.