You’re a handful sometimes. You know you’ll probably be up all night packing. You’re not sure you love your father anymore. Your head gets fuzzy sometimes. You don’t know what’s next. You don’t feel pretty. You sometimes lose the courage to say what you mean out loud. You hope your students understand they should not have to pay for their education. You know your grandmother only loves you conditionally. You wish your middle school counselor hadn’t seen right through you. You’re too protective of your mother. You use too much tissue paper around your favorite books. You understand now what he meant when he said your arms feel like home. You didn’t escape the stereotype of a child of divorce like you thought you had. You hope your best friend wasn’t right when he said you were broken. You want to go home.
midnight rain
bubble wrap punctures
the silence
Yay Words! 
Powerful haibun! Both the prose and the haiku exist on a special level of awareness.
Thank you, Peggy, glad this spoke to you in some way.
Beautiful.
Thanks, as always, man.
Nice! In haibun the title is meant to set the ‘tone’ or in this case the ‘perspective’ for the reader. This one does it for sure! The prose, as could be expected from you, is perfect. But the hat’s off ‘capper’ is the haiku in this one. Wonderful read.
Thanks muchly, Mike!
So much of that spoke to me. Understanding that love from someone will disappear if you disappoint or anger them. Chronically feeling ugly. You really created a moment in time. Really lovely and mostly sad.