They Think

They act like it’s not life or death, it shouldn’t hurt.

They told me it would be better, my room bigger, nicer paint. They didn’t understand small felt safe.Big felt empty.. The paint was chipping because I had painted long ago. I knew I was an artist.

They told me I would make new friends, old ones could call. They had it backwards.

They honked, having done this enough times to blissfully forget what it felt like. I sat, stared out the window hoping everything would be loved, I would be remembered; I would never forget this place.