HomelessA Poem by PoisonedFlower
I wrote this in my writing class once. Yes, it's really dark and depressing, and maybe not good at all, and sometimes, it is exactly what I feel like.
“Home is where the heart is.” I wonder who came up with these words. Do they really mean anything? Because if they do, then I… am homeless. For me, homeless isn’t living on the streets. Homeless is being unloved, being suffocated by the walls I live in. It is feeling the pain when there is no one to turn to. Being homeless is being a little kid listening to the screaming downstairs, then drowning it out with loud music and my ragged sobs. Being homeless is trying not to listen, but being afraid to miss anything. It is the feeling of waking up each morning in a cold, cold bed and having the fear creep back into my mind. The fear that today will be even worse than yesterday. Being homeless is knowing I am trapped like a bird in a cage, knowing that the monster of my nightmares will come back to claim me no matter how beautiful every sunrise looks. Like the night claims daylight, like a predator claims its prey. It is having somewhere semi-warm to go to at night, but not wanting to. It is turning off the light to sleep, but staying awake for hours to make sure I am still breathing. But being homeless is also telling myself to search for my heart, my sanctuary every day and still fighting for every thump in my chest. It is finding the little points of light in the darkness. If home is where the heart is, I will look for my heart everywhere I go… And maybe someday I won’t be homeless. Maybe someday I will have a real home to call mine.
© 2009 PoisonedFlower
AboutI'm just an ordinary seventeen year old girl living in Colorado who loves reading, writing, music, and her friends! There's a lot more to me than you might think, but I guess this is all I can say abo.. more..
People who liked this story also liked..