WhenI was young,
In the playhouse Daddy built
I cooked delicious dishes
onmy plastic stove
for see-through guests
I swept the dust-filledcorners
of the cozy room
I filled the cracks in the wall withtissue
denying the icy wind
the chance to leave
unwanted kisses on mycheek
When my work was done
I'd sit in my chair
reading stories offaraway places,
The room illuminated
by the flickering of myimagination
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.
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