Home Sweet Home

It’s strange how alone I feel in a house so full

I walk as though I am being watched

Each step I take is anxious,

Anxious for escape,

Anxious for fulfillment,
Anxious for renewing

I watch their laughter dance on the wall,

How strange it is that they laugh at all

At night I lay in a bed so large

But I like the way it makes me feel small

The sheets of cold wrap me so tightly

Giving me dreams of hope for somewhere warmer

Each night I hope to go somewhere foreign

Praying for God to fly me there

It’s the only time I pray

I need an escape, a quick way out

But I remain trapped behind the bars of my youth

My soul is aged but my body is juvenile

Restricted by the conduct that is morality

A morality formed by a naïve people

Saying that what I want is not normal

Who are you to define such a thing?

Your logic is extraneous, your rudiments unstable

Do not act as if you are able

For you are small, just like the rest

Normal is too big for your smallness to comprehend

Thinking that your life is better because you live by a verse

Thinking that you are more noble because you pray to a man

Sitting on a throne and laughing at your smallness

So do not mock me when I say I must go

My eagerness derives from a need

One that is surfaced only in this empty house

But another night here might numb me further

And I need the pain to show me its real  

Tell Me

Ambition,
Belief,
Confidence,
Destruction,
Cowardice,
But aren't they all the same?
Everyone seems to portray them all the same
With religion there is arrogance
With belief there is limit
With ambition there is ambiguity
In all of this I fail to see the sincerity
You snap for my attention
You force this pen in my hand,
Tying my eyes to read these lies
At least I think they're lies
Or maybe it's just a disguise
Maybe I am not worthy to know the truth
But what really is the truth?
Is it the words painted red, italicized in this small print?
Or is it the suffering of this world
Every day that I witness
When you succeed in your efforts let me know
The shallowness in your good deeds soon will show
But sometimes I wonder what really is good,
All these questions and no one to answer
No one but myself, this paper, and the night
I hinder though I try to thrive
My habitat restrains me, I plead for a breath
It's like trying to run a mile in just one step
It's like eating a meal when I have no mouth,
Leaving me feeble and unsatisfied
Some nights I cry,
But I'm not always sad
And some nights I find it impossible to be happy
Knowing that I have to live a life of perplexity
Because everyone know's it all,
But no one can tell me anything

The People of Gray

No one understands her
She sits alone in her room, hoping
She sits alone in her room, dreaming
She sits there,
Knowing her facade is quickly dulling
She can only remain gray for so long
The colors come spilling out
Oceans of green, orange, purple, blue
It hurts their eyes
They scream and run, the people of gray
She bombards their houses,
She tears down their walls of gray
She mutes their calls of gray
She floods their halls of gray
Nothing remains
Only color
Only she

Mess

Sight is clearer after the tears

After the last salty drop streams down your cheek

The screaming heat on your skin is soothed

But don't tell me you never feel it

Don't tell me you never want to fight it

I know you have it

Admit it, just admit it

I can't sit around and let you treat me like this

I cant be beaten with this bat forever

Just give it up,

Just let it go

When the last word is said

When the first noose is tied

That's when you know

That's when the bomb has dropped

The atomic sound booms

It breaks my ear drums

They burst of life and death, 

Out seeps the stress of my world

Out seeps the declaration of defeat

All that was packaged inside

But the exportation was too far

It was returned quickly,

Back to the sole of my being

Bottled back up into my rudiments

I wish I could fuse it all

I wish I could coat it with the chemicals of my worry

And watch it dissipate in thousands of 

litte

tiny

pieces

But I will never know what it means to fight

I only know how it feels to remain

How it feels to grip with all your might

To clamp until your sockets disassemble

And hold on long enough to stay awake

Though some nights I wish I didn't

Some nights I wish I could go

And forfeit this battle

Some nights I wish I could 

Creepy Crawlies

It seeps down the walls of this house
Crawling on the floors,
Making its way over
Wrapping up my legs,
Slowly stringing my fingers,
Clamping them shut
And in the night time,
It lives in my head
Maneuvering my dreams
It sticks to the bottom of my feet,
So I trudge and slouch, struggling
I move slowly
I see the light but the darkness cuddles me
It kisses me on the cheek,
Enticing me
I listen to its whisper
I give it my everything
Draining me of anything I still am
And when I think it's gone,
It returns
Stronger than ever
Is say goodbye one last time
To the light I tried to hold
Understanding that until I let go,
It will never let go of me.

The Fate of My Trouble

You bring me your troubles
Stacked as high as the narrow eye can see
I swallow them again, unbelievably
Like big horse pills, forced down my throat
In my stomach, they stir and soak
Digestion is not apparent,
No acid to erode the heaviness
"But it hurts!" I tell you,
Still no benevolence Laughing with your eyes,
You scoff at my pain
Your feckless heart understands not my need
Your selfish thoughts derive your belief
I should have known,
Your capacity to hear is just like stone
My every word bounces off,
You are too dense to saturate my issue
I guess it's because you have hard tissue
You've left me with no option but recoiling
In my body this trouble is soiling
Forever it churns, slow and steady
I'll share my thoughts whenever you're ready
But whenever is never,
With you at least
You dine on selfishness
And on self righteousness you feast

Sorry, this isn't a poem.

Every once in a while, I like to write a short story. There's some experiences I go through that call for a simple vent session. Concluding of the five followers I now obtain, I feel comfortable exploiting my inner struggles to the world of bloggers. Although, I am aware a few eyes will meet this page and learn something new about myself. This archive of passion is my one safe oasis, knowingly I put all thoughts, raw or refined, on this blog. A few minutes ago, I walked into my attic. This attic is no ordinary storage room, but more so a safe hold of memories. In this attic, you have the best view of my house. Yes, it's blazing in the summer and freezing in the winter, but that's what makes it delicate. When my dad was alive, he used this attic as his work desk. It is small and cramped, but somehow he managed (as my father always did), to find a desk that had the exact measurements of the nook in the wall. This desk was filled with treasures. Before my mom got re-married and practically dumped out our entire house, all of his favorite collectibles lived in those drawers. He would use the beams in the walls as shelves, hanging up his Duke Energy "25 years of service" complimentary pens- he never was one for change. In the very bottom drawer, behind his coin box, you could find pictures of him and all the pretty girls he dated in High School. In the top left drawer, you could find a few lighters, those of which he used to light his cigars- the ones he smoked out the window so my mom couldn't smell. In the center drawer, you would find a variation of blank cards. If there's one thing to know about my dad, it is that like he liked to give cards. They were the cards my brother and I would sporadically wake up to on our beds, the cards that he stuck on the dash of our car to make us a little later for school, the cards that refrained our anger when we found out he ate the last Popsicle, and the cards he always gave my mom the morning after a big fight. This attic held a wonder of things. Although it sits empty now, I will always remember peeping my head in as a little girl, hoping he would let me sit on his knee for a few minutes and gaze at all the amazing work he did under that single lamp light. I might be able to let him go, I might be able to let myself move on, but I'll never move past the rush of honor I get when I stand where such a passionate man stood.