I made a home out of my pain, I think

People simply cannot

Be the night lamp I need

To read my favorite books

On nights of agony – or is it just brutal honesty?

I made a home out of places I may never see

And things I may never get to hold

In the palm of my hands or in between my fingers;

A forlorn island off the coast of Norway

And wild berries buried deep within

Mystical burrows of transcendence

I banged my head against a holy surface

And I called it home

Thinking that's what all the greats did;

Now my scars smile at me

With compassion that bites

At the smooth edges of my shirt's collar

Sometimes, I made a home out of my mother's smile

And sometimes out of my father's tears;

The woman who can't keep me sane anymore

The man who never cries

I found a measure of infinity

In every quote that is spilling inked life

Into my journal,

In keypads of computers

That reassured my raging hands

I am still a prisoner of these words of mine

I flirted with ciphers

Making flawed arrangements of bricks

Stacked neatly next to each other;

A house of cards

Riding the winds of change

In the human mind, body, heart, soul

I made a home out of my pain, I think

Not because I had nowhere else to go

But for the gluttony

Of embers, smoldering in my belly

Always hungry for more and more and more…