Disorder

Even now, my parents still treat me
with soft kid gloves and feather voices.
After the incident, and a year,
and the doctors, and the bills,
I think they understand now
that in America, at least,
if you break it, you buy it.
My dad once told me
I built a shell around myself
to keep the whole world out—
but I know he’s wrong.
My walls have always oscillated
due to unsound foundation;
the furniture creaks just from looking at it;
and hurtful thoughts bounce around like hyperactive kids,
constantly breaking shit and making messes.
Even now, all my parents think to do
is childproof as much as they can
and tell me to be happy.