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The lights are on again

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There are lights on in the house next door.

The glowing yellow window-eyes

Shine forlorn and hazy through the evening fog.

It’s been a long time

Since those lights shone through the dark,

And it’s been night for a small forever.

The lights are full of memory,

Beacons that speak of laughter,

Childhood cartoons,

Blue and orange play-dough.

I still look out for them, even though

They aren’t on much anymore.

The light isn’t warm either, it’s too distant

To be anything but stained-glass

And unreachable.


My mother says it’s not my fault,

(The ghost stories)

That they didn’t leave because of me.

(The wild one)

The doors are locked for another reason,

But I can’t help wondering

(Hoarse from yelling, cursing the world)

Whether it would’ve been different

If I had grown up normal.


Could I still go back to the windows?

Lay my palm flat against the clear glass

And look in at past playtimes and exploration

Through the orderly little neighborhood?

Or would the lights turn off, blink out,

Like they usually do,

Leaving me in the empty winter street

And the frigid, soul numbing air,

Wishing I hadn’t grown up a freak?


But it’s too late now.

The lights are just on tonight

While I’m trapped inside this box of a bedroom,

Staring at them like they’re lighthouse gleams

From an island far away.

I think I’ll stay back here and remember them,

Waiting as time takes their glow little by little.

At least they won’t fade from my mind.

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