Sitting at the table
acting like nothing
has happened when
world war three just
took place in the kitchen.
The walls still
hold the marks.

I can feel the
tension in the air
rubbing against my cheek
and leaving a scar.

'If we were to earn
our whole year's income
every single month
of the year,
what should
or would
we spend it on,'
they ask.

A pointless task
to pass the time,
asking me to
name my needs in
material matters and
I have nothing to say,
for what I crave
money cannot buy.

'Original brand peanuts,'
my dad wants. And
'Better internet!' my
brother declares.
'A new kitchen,'
my mum decides.

More space, new windows.
New kitchen, a utility room.
Original brands, organic food.
A new pet, a bigger house.

But what need have I for these things?

I could not
tell them what I
long for, as
what a disappointment
to their material hopes
and achievable dreams
my impossible, emotive
cravings would be.

Because what I long for
is to sleep through
the entire night
uninterrupted.

To come home to
an empty house
and have more
time to myself.

To wake up to something
other than anger and
hate flying about
in warring voices.

To know that I am
safe, no matter what.
Turn the tables and
be in control for once.

To go back to the time
before the train fell off
of the tracks. And be
allowed another shot.

Maybe then
things would've
turned out
different.

But I can't. So I just
stay silent and
nod along to their
attempts at peace.