Your Monroe Daughter

March 2, 2009
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You placed the Flintstone vitamins up high where they won't be tempting,
because you wouldn't want me to be one of those peroxide blondes,
who pace in front of the door when you're late.
Yet here I am grasping the empty bottle,
with locks of the almost hair spread across my face,
while slumbering beneath the keyhole.
Just avoid coming home.
Slip a note between the frame,
that I will find in the morning.
Just avoid coming home.
You can't enforce discipline when you're not here,
because your voice is less frightening after we forget,
and as a result our limbs have stretched,
stretched far out of the many layers that you formerly dressed us in,
no longer unable to reach what you hide,
we slip out of the front door now.

So just come home.
To face what you have created.
To see how scary half of you is.

So just come home.
Do you not know who I am? Or do I remind you of someone you know?
I do the best that I can to follow your guidelines,
some you have practically given me permission to stray out of,
I am too old to think of Flintstone vitamins as anything more than candy,
if I get hurt, you would never dream of rushing to the peroxide ever again,

please don't be ashamed,

I tried as hard as you did.

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