I step back through the door, this rented shell,
Where memories linger, and shadows swell.
I was sixteen, just a kid, barely grown,
But in this place, my heart had turned to stone.

The landlady—her words like venom, sharp and cold,
She twisted lies, her greed untold.
She threatened my mom, made her feel small,
I’d lie awake, fists clenched, ready to brawl.

Stress hung in the air like a heavy cloud,
My mom, worn down, never speaking too loud.
We tiptoed through days, through the lies and the fight,
And I, too young, lost hope in the light.

Grandma passed while I called this place home,
I couldn’t cry—felt so alone.
Sorrow wrapped tight around my chest,
I...