SLAVE IN ONE'S HOME
I wash my smile before dawn breaks
hide my tired bones in laughter's clothes
serve peace on plates I never taste
and call this loyalty, not chains.
Walls know my silence by name
they echo my sighs between chores
and when I dream of freedom's hand
guilt whispers that I have a roof.
Love here feels like borrowed air
each breath measured, each joy taxed
I am both guest and ghost within
a place I built yet never own.
But still, I fold my pain with care
hang it beside the linen sheets
pray someday they'll see the truth
that slaves still live in loving homes.
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