def: missing a home that you can't return to, or that never was.

Straight back, lined feet, close ankles, tucked legs. 

You don't need a camera, tracker, chip, not even a baby monitor. No, your eyes that I can never look into without turning away, do their job just fine.

You're rebuking me, I don't know what I did wrong, the guests don't know, but you do. You always seem to know, oh how the tables have turned, I'm now a guest in my own house and they've become your family. I look at them, its not your fault, but they bow their heads.

You laugh, table set as a banquet, spotless castle, well put on show for your friends, encore. Like a remote controller you maneuver me like a remote car, exploiting your position, bragging your authority as if you have an army in the kitchen but an army of one, whilst you dine.

I'm part of the show, but its a twisted performance that makes the star of the cast a joke of the plot, starring me. A puppet hanging by a thread.

I'm now a servant. No, wait, a robot. Jokes on you I'm a complete stranger. Anything but your daughter.

You have eyes but you don't see. You have ears but you don't hear. There's a heart, it beats, but not lovingly.

Day and night, the same complaint.
This isn't how you raised me, of course not. Because raising someone means to help them rise above level ground but all you do is constantly push me down.

Your hands are powerful, but not as powerful as your words. They hit home. I take the words with a screaming silence in hopes that they'll act as beacons so that they may lead me there. Home.

Wherever that is.

----

To the next generation: "Lets raise children who don't have to recover from their childhood."

- Pam Leo