tales from my daydreams

I feel as if I am a soft sound, difficult to hear unless you’re paying attention. The house I grew up in had two floors, I used to sneak my way to the kitchen every night to eat my favorite breakfast cereal but no matter how quiet I tried to be the creaky wooden steps would betray me. The women outnumbered the men, but patriarchy won every single day. My savior was my bicycle, a second hand gift covered in purple and black, my strongest ally. I was flying, escaping from the shackles of this temporary home. My Father died when I was four years old. He was a chainsmoker all his life up until his death despite the cancer. My Mother was a formidable woman, she strongly believed in the use of brute force.