When I step out of my cocoon
I risk being lashed by home
that birthed me.
It rejects the movement,
making it hard for me to breathe,
to speak,
to ask.
It leaves my mind dark,
blackened by deceased souls,
the casing silk dripping gray,
gashing and crimping in on
my thoughts that it makes
me want to disappear
and never rise again.
Because I have to do the right thing,
the responsible thing,
and listen, study, clean,
keep quiet,
all the things that make you a good daughter.
Doing the things you want doesn't make you good.