“I’m stuck in molasses and in a hurry to get home”

My feet are consumed by a syrupy sea,  
Dark amber and sticky, it’s wrapping up me,  
I wiggle, I squirm, but the harder I try,  
The molasses just grips me and won’t let me fly.

The sun’s painting gold on the tips of the trees,  
I long for the comfort of pillows and teas,  
My house, with its laughter, is calling my name—  
But my limbs are entangled, my willpower’s tame.

I dream of my doorway, a familiar embrace,  
The scent of cinnamon floating through space,  
My porchlight is twinkling, a welcoming spark,  
While I slosh in this goo, as the daylight grows dark.

My backpack’s askew and my patience is waning,  
This river of sugar is stubborn and draining.  
Oh, if I could leap, or even just run,  
I’d be home in a heartbeat, chores nearly done.

Instead, I keep inching, frustration and hope,  
Like taffy I’m stretching, I slide and I grope.  
But the thought of hot cocoa and stories and rest  
Is a sweet little fuel bubbling up in my chest.

So onward I shuffle, determined and slow—  
Because home waits for me, and home’s where I’ll go.  
Molasses, you monster, you won’t have my day,  
I’ll break through your hold and be well on my way!

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