The Teen

slow silence, in a shadowed room

long into the morning still the gloom

of curtains left unpulled

the twilight world of mobile phone glow

of clothes that won't go

by themselves to the laundry basket

steady listening to the loud beat

of relentless songs on repeat

but no talking to anyone

one day the light will dawn

and the caterpillar, finally born

a butterfly, a daughter will emerge

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A poem...what I just wrote.