Eggshells

'Everyday I walk on eggshells, feeling every crack.
The pain is nothing compared to the sorrow of having to walk to Hell and back.
This sinking feeling, like quicksand, began at an early age,
& like my brothers' disabilities, it got worse with every stage.

'The floor now turns to lava.
To everyone else, it's just a game, but I've been burned too many times to ever think the same.
The smoke and fumes fill my lungs and send my thoughts into a tizzy.
Like I'm trapped in a tornado, I get tossed around; I feel dizzy.

'The floor is now made of glass - another fairy tale gone wrong.
I dream of a happy ending & hope I won't have to wait too long.
I twirl around in dresses, but nothing seems to fit me right.
I pray that my reflection is simply on (me) too tight.

'The floor is made of sludge - gross and sticking to my feet.
Dirty, cold, & slimy - that's how I feel every week.
It's hopeless to keep going, but I still need to say that I've tried.
Immobile, I feel nothing. Is this a coma? Have I died?

'The floor changes to clouds. Where's nirvana when you need it?
Is this heaven? Tiny molecules can't support me - my being exceeds it.

'The floor is covered with animals. Big, small, furless, fuzzy, & the like.
But there are no birds, for those who (can) fly been took flight.
Careful not to step on a furry rodent's back, I shuffle out slowly.
I don't want to be the (hippo's) snack.

'The floor is made of paper now - a (gorgeous) sight to see.
Paper balls & scribbles span as far as the eye can see.
I welcome all these papercuts, for they fill me with hope.
One day, my wonderous brain and me plan to run off and elope.

'The floor is back to carpet now. My dream comes to an end.
A household full of people, & yet not a single friend.
Every word from them makes me feel like the eggshells are back.
And everyday, I am forced to walk (from) Hell and back.