I spend my days floating from one branch to the next, observing what very few do. I promise not to tell a soul, the same way the people inside the cream colored house do.
Cardinal Rule 1: Don't let yourself get emotional. Suppression is a form of progression, right? Even from all the way up here, I can still see her lips becoming mere cracks in the sidewalk, for she is cement. With no one to turn to, she turns to her bed.
Cardinal Rule 2:  Don’t speak unless you are spoken to. Every night I go to bed wondering how someone breathes with that many words stuck in their throat. The taste of stale words left a sour look on her face.
Cardinal Rule 3: Build your own house.Your own town, even. Her lips are sidewalks and her mouth is the front door to a whole house of problems. The cars that pass seem to be so close, close enough to ask for help, but when she walks toward help, they seem to get farther.
Cardinal Rule 4: Give everything you have, even if you have nothing left to give. I noticed the way she became a doormat to a crack house. Walked all over by the careless people who had no idea of what was going on. Their head in the clouds, their bodies on the ground. She wanders day to day with the word “welcome” printed on her. She wonders if maybe the ink will wear off if enough people tread on her.