You can’t laugh your way out of this one.
The walls are closing in on all sides
at the family dinner table
that treats you like a hospital patient.
You’re shackled to that fork and knife,
the silver gauntlets that force-feed you
under the pretense of a household bonding;
yet one bad joke and it’s off to your room.
The Arkham Asylum, as you’ve named it,
where your solitary confinement
hides the hurt with a jacket of hugs
and your parents get to be the Batman
who locked you there for treatment.
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