Home

There is a place called home
I wish it were my reality
The fuzzies of a warm cat
Rubbing against your leg
The comfort of a warm coffee
The glow of a computer
A lover
Sharing the most
Intimate parts
Of themselves with you
Not reality
Which continually brings me out
Into the cold light of the moon
That is not my home
That is not a world I know
I once felt the confidence
Of a 1000 Queens
Inside my chest
It is amazing
How that confidence
Can break away
Into a nervous sweat

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone Chapter 1 (Condensed Version)

 CHAPTER ONE - THE BOY WHO LIVED  Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of Privet Drive were the last people to be involved in anything strange or mysterious. Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills.  He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, and a large mustache. Mrs Dursley was thin, blonde, and had twice as much neck for spying on neighbors.  The Dursleys had a small son named Dudley - the “finest” boy around. The Dursleys also had a secret, and they were afraid someone would discover it. They couldn’t bear it if someone found out about Petunia’s sister’s family - The Potters. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had a small son, and they did not want Dudley associating with a child like that. It was a peculiar morning.  Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out a tie for work, while Mrs. Dursley gossiped away as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his high chair. None of them noticed the large, tawny owl flutter past the window. Mr. Dursley got into his car and backe
Read more

Lost in Thoughts

A cold winter and my hands are frozen My eyes are weary For a long time they were open There are piles of books Each waiting be open There are pictures of worlds Of emotions left unspoken There is a formula for the writer A certain system to be achieved We must display the characters As neither good or bad Just psychological Significant humans A location A scene focused on it's nature The sunlight pouring through it's trees The drowsy morning of a mid summer The cold walk during the middle of the night in December Christmas lights adorning the trees A girl walks with her arms wrapped around her chest Wishing it was easier Wishing he was here There are things fantastical to be written about Yet there are also those normal, everyday moments There is a mastery of language that is needed A mastery of languages A mastery of diction A mastery of lyric Yet all the same A clear voice So that anyone could read it Original but not too original Enough to se
Read more

Past Lives or Schizophrenic?

Sometimes I feel like there's two of me. There’s the one who exists right here in the now. This individual has her own views and her own ego. She is able to make decisions even when she is a callous bitch about it and the world is generally easy to understand. Then there is the other person inside of me. I swear she is the most disagreeable person. Her name is Maoko and she is my past life self. She wins a lot of the time because she hangs onto her past or should I say OUR past.  Even before that was a girl named Talulah. She was a slave woman who was murdered. None of her life was that great. She’s fucking us both over even though she is technically both of us.
Read more