My Living Room
by Shantae Stewart
I have been living in my living room, because that’s what it is made for…living.
My bed is my sofa.
It is also a pillow fort guarding me from the attackers in my dreams, yet cushioning the memories that reach out to save me each night.
I have nightmares.
My thoughts bleed out onto the streets of my sofa.
I hear the citizens of my subconscious protest over the bloodied streets.
They wave placards. Some loot and steal and burn things down.
The workers are on strike. My nerves have been shot. My ambitions go uncompensated.
I have been living in my living room.
My sofa is my fortress.
It is being invaded.
It thinks I am the enemy.