Last night, I became the man of the house
white beater cupping my knees
hand me down hems rested upon exposed wood floors.
Appearance altered- the mirror glass is shattered.
Yesterday’s flavors no longer have the same taste.
Strawberry Nesquik diluted by ice water.

The foundation is not built,
concrete has not hardened,
my soul still lost, but I am prepared
to walk for you
Timbs untied, dirty denim scraping pavement
as you fade from a timeline, frozen,
then melted by deformation.
A new reality that introduces turmoil like a replacement character.
Adapting to a space where blue molds green and my hands bleed purple,
currency is tears, to which I am poor,
and the highs of life
are basemented by uncertainty.

Chants in my mind that I represent you as
bad ideas become logical,
adaption to responsibility becomes a requirement.
This heart is covered in indignation- how will I cleanse, when
for you, I tread barren, below zero rivers
fighting to plant seeds as the ice cracks beneath,
and water engulfs my ankles
loosening my grip to what I believed I controlled.

by. Philip G. Steverson