This is the bleach on the walls.
Where I want to live.
Where I was born to become from.
Grey clouds make droplets of tasteful love
leftover petals
from the honey flower I chewed.
Mother called
& through the clean screen door
I smelled warm bread
& the plastic of our short rug.
In a kind of heavenly happiness
I float inside the room
laughing sweetly
with everyone else around me.
What a comfort,
what a clean slate.
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