Butter Knife
by Kaelyn Jake
They don’t warn you about waking after
When you never planned to wake up at all.
They tear down the rope hung from the rafter
And distract you with crafts and a stress ball.
Of course, you did not consider before
The constant surveillance that's worse than death.
Twenty years old, sleeping on your mom’s floor,
Silent crying masked by her serene breath.
They lock all your drawers, steal your privacy,
Giving you a butter knife for your steak.
You can’t be trusted with your own car key,
Going to the store feels like a jailbreak.
They promise life will get better with time,
For now, you suffer the weight of your crime.
When you never planned to wake up at all.
They tear down the rope hung from the rafter
And distract you with crafts and a stress ball.
Of course, you did not consider before
The constant surveillance that's worse than death.
Twenty years old, sleeping on your mom’s floor,
Silent crying masked by her serene breath.
They lock all your drawers, steal your privacy,
Giving you a butter knife for your steak.
You can’t be trusted with your own car key,
Going to the store feels like a jailbreak.
They promise life will get better with time,
For now, you suffer the weight of your crime.
Kaelyn Jake is an aspiring novelist at Endicott College. With a love for all things dark and macabre, she strives for writing that authentically speaks to the pain (and joys) of human existence.