Home
I am built
From the taunts of catty rich girls.
They are hurdles on my path
To boyhoood.
I am filled
With the sounds of rushing
Creek water. Peace and quiet here
When nowhere else feels
Like home.
I am the sounds
Of demons being slayed
In the basement
Of a dissertation being slayed
In an upstairs study.
Life defined by two absences
As much as what is present
I have rot
From this house that tried
To kill me,
Life away from friends and school and
Sanity
I am the couch
Where I lost my virgnity
This old combination of cloth
Cushion and wood a bigger
Absence than my father.
I am
A cripple. Sixty years old
At least on the inside.
Pills and bottles, mobility aids.
My body is a husk. Or something
I work around, not with.
Maybe I would get along better
If I tried with not around
But it is demanding, picky about
How much I sleep, what I eat
When I do what do
So much I cannot give it
Or even
That it won’t give itself.
Life is to busy for me to rest away
All of the aches and pains. So maybe
I am pain. Life is pain in
My fingers, elbows, ribs, knees, lungs.
Loud or quiet but always
Always there.
Yet I go on.
Maybe that makes me pain’s super villain.
Paws
Your paws will carry me.
They will guide my life as you
Help to grant me my freedom
From fear and anxiety.
These paws carry your big and magnificent
Body. Life without you, without
Those paws would be bleak indeed.