Home

My angst in the house grows day by day. I hate the mat at the entrance. I hate the door. I hate everything the vessels very threshold. The weight of so much pain and anger cripple me. The weight of the house cripples me. Everyday is a fight for survival. Every move taken has to be calculated and precise, for one wrong move can spell doom. In a house surrounded by those who share the same lineage,I walk alone. I want nothing to do with any of them. They each dish out a ration of betrayal and hurt upon me to the extent of which there is no recovery. My body bares few scars of their insanity. My soul, mind, and spirit however are flattened by there oppressive fronts. I try to stay sane in a house full of madmen. My greatest fear is that one day I will become like them...I will become the very thing I abhor. I sing all day...vocalizing  their atrocities but my song falls on deaf ears. I scream but go unheard. No one listens to me. I remain a lone entity in a group that begs to be a family. I have no such thing. So I escape. I retreat into the paper and find myself. As the ink flows, my mind goes and wanders.As my hand moves, I leave this reality.My words are my home. My many thoughts become my family. My hate mellows into joy. My anger turns happiness. The weight is lifted. The pen is my moon. The paper is my stars. Poetry is my universe. Poetry is my escape. Poetry is my family. Poetry is my home.