She sat there, her feelings burning inside of her,
her love, anger, guilt, pain all eating away at her.
How could she tell them what she felt?
Her own mother and father?
They would never approve of it, they were too old fashioned,
couldn’t see things had changed since their day.
No, it was no use, her only option was…
was to run, run far away, away from the arguments,
shouting and the disapproving stares.
She grabbed the case from on top of the old, antique wardrobe,
placing it on her bed before her,
the bed that she had laid in since she was a little girl.
Slowly she began to place her clothes in the case,
a small, perfectly formed tear, fell from her eye,
and landed on the bedspread.
The last mark she would leave on her parent’s world…
She carried the case into the kitchen,
and before she left, she slipped a note under the fruit bowl,
assuring her mum and dad she would be ok,
that it was better this way,
and with that she was gone,
off to be with the love of her life,
to be free, to be with…her.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem