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…
