"Broken Home"

"Broken Home"

A Poem by PoeT4994
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Wrote this for a contest, based off of a music video.

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They say that if you put a conch shell up to your ear, you can hear something beautiful, like the ocean.
But I heard, that if you break open that very same conch shell, and read the braile that is beating against the walls, you’ll read his footprints.
You’ll read how he’s been breaking this dirt in like a new pair of shoes.
And they say, if you throw the shattered pieces into the ocean, and watch the water jump around the impact, you’ll be able to catch a quick glimse of what he looked like when he cried.
Son, I’m telling you to run.
Run from your house like it was a bad habit.
I know, that just because it’s a house, it doesn’t mean it’s a home.
So run.
Make those ‘ol dusty back roads feel your pain.
Make ‘em feel young again.
Let that dirt and those pebbles feel what 14 years of abuse can do to someone who grew up too fast.
They say, if you break that shell against your heart, you’ll finally know what a broken home feels like.
Like dusty windows and crooked pictures frames.
Tears and one too many fakes smiles in the family portraits.
Half-assed dads and dreams that have more spiderwebs than a windshield after a head on collision.
We both know that sons shine bright no matter where they go, so I want you to f*****g run.
Break your feet harder than your spirit has been.
Make ‘em bleed.
I want them to write a news article about you.
I know how easy it is to find yourself while you’re lost amongst the other 1 million to 3 million teenage runaways in this country.
Boy, punish that earth till the oceans beat your story into conch shells, maybe there you’ll be safe.
Maybe there your tears won’t see another midnight.
Run.
Because when your feet bleed, you won’t think too hard about the cracked ribs when you were 8.
Or the heroin addict made out to be your mom.
Maybe then you’ll forget about memories that taste all too much like bathroom floors.
Yes, your brother and sister will miss you.
But they’ll understand.
The night you kiss them bye, they’ll know, that this is what needs to happen.
It hurts, it always will.
But both you and I know, that playing ball in the yard, and looking back and seeing that Hell of a home will always hurt a lot worse.
Don’t run from your problems, I’m not saying that.
Just leave them behind.
Understand that your family’s past is not yours.
And that their mistakes don’t need to impact yours.
They say you can hear the ocean through a conch shell.
But I hear that if you stab one through the heart, you can listen as one of the millions of homeless teenagers cry.
And I hear that since the beginning, angels have been breaking braile into the walls of conch’s.
So that no one will ever forget the stories of people who really have problems at home.
You know they say, that if you put a conch shell up to your ear, you can hear something beautiful, like a 14 year old’s feet pounding dusty back-roads, finally getting the f**k out of a broken home.

© 2010 PoeT4994


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Featured Review

This was beautifully penned.
The tone, and the way that a terrible story slowly unfolded were excellent. I love the imagery and metaphors that you used, great language throughout the entire thing. The repetition was added in beautifully, never overpowering, while still instilling a theme throughout it.

Overall, great write.
100/100 from me.
-Coral-

Posted 9 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.




Reviews

This was beautifully penned.
The tone, and the way that a terrible story slowly unfolded were excellent. I love the imagery and metaphors that you used, great language throughout the entire thing. The repetition was added in beautifully, never overpowering, while still instilling a theme throughout it.

Overall, great write.
100/100 from me.
-Coral-

Posted 9 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.


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Added on August 1, 2010
Last Updated on August 1, 2010
Tags: Broken, home, poem, poet, contest, poetry, run, pain.