Under The Stairs.

I open the cupboard under the stairs,

fetching my bag from its hiding place.

It waits,
So patiently,
for me to name the day;
the day I leave for good,
and today,
is that day.

I check the contents,
just to make sure,
all is in order.

I open the front door,
applying pressure,
as I cautiously pull.
My face is contorted with concentration;
squinted eyes;
clenched teeth.

It must not make a noise.
It cannot make a noise.
please,
don’t make a noise.

I’m outside.

This is it…

I stand.
I think.
I muse the future.

What will they think,
of me?

Will they understand?

Will they sympathise?

Or will they view me as…

A symbolic abomination?

The personification of,
cowardice?

A father,

who didn’t care?

I open the cupboard under the stairs,
hiding my travel bag in the same place.

Once more I return.
Once more I indulge the monotony,
once more…

Just once more.