The heartaches when I am in my home
pretending people are with me
my heart is a icy block a sullen stone
Sometimes in solitudes den
I pretend that I am free when
I am on my own
I am just recovering from life’s traumas
Sometimes I pretend I am jesus in a tomb
in my living room
waiting to roll away the stone
and be free with people who love me
but often people talk over my ideas
and conversation
I know I am alone
but with the voice in my head I never truly am
life is painful but I know I am!
alive and fighting wrestling with life’s gaping questions
and although people won’t agree with me
I am the marks the footprints I have left
I am the ideas that crept into your head from a poem I wrote years ago
my life is art
and it drives my heart
but like paper sometimes I am lost in the bin
of life
sometimes in mundane drudgery we find that life is unkind
but it’s the only one I have…