Blister

I am blistered.
from the friction in my life.

(untitled)

have you ever cried so much your head hurt
your stomach hollow
your eyes swollen
your arms hanging from their sockets
and all you can do is lay
and let your mind spin out
like a top thats been spun
the winding
the coming undone
as your head pounds unbearably

Home

I enjoy the idea of home. But I have never been there. But the idea is a part of me. The idea of being grounded and belonging to something bigger than myself.
I believe i came from a home. A home between three birch trees, on the edge of a field, looking out to the river. A romantic place, where the front door lead to my bedroom i shared with my sister. I remember the baby blue carpeting and picture window.


But then i lost that home; it slipped through my fingers- although i held on so tight. The painful shards I still carry in my palms. And i can feel the bitter soreness when i try to grasp again.


I have learned to build a home in another place. (because everyone needs a some place to belong) I build the home with my heart- in my heart. I dont have to hold onto my home there, and it will never go away. And my many homes exist- they become my heart.