Welcome to my broken home,
There's nobody here I'm all alone.

The walls they scream of things once said,
They constantly echo in my head.

The door in front it never closes as people never stay,
The hatred and guilt always drives them away.

So welcome to my broken home I don't have anything to offer you,
No love, no face I'm out of place and there's not much I can do.

I sit in here and do nothing at all,
But stare at these empty walls.

It portrays the life of hurt and hate,
My destiny, my anguish, my solitaire fate.

It's like a projection screen playing a never ending show,
It's like it's in slow motion, so painfully slow.

So run now from my broken home, keep the door open as you leave,
Because being trapped in here I still need air to breathe.

Tell now about my broken home of all things heard and said,
Because even as a woman that house still lives in my head.

That little girl trapped inside, well that little girl is me,
Even though I'm older now the horrible thoughts won't me be.

Ethereal petals
blue
unfurling a presence

on the waveless
shoreless waters

bathed in golden light

a smile, a portal
to vaster worlds
unfolding
on the placid lake

a golden peace
unending dawn

I sat in the grass, under the sun, and found a tiny bug in my hair.
It was orange with a gray **** and itsy bitsy wings.
It did not fly away when I picked it up, but it just roamed aimlessly on my hand.
What shocked me was that I couldn't feel the bug at all,
not even when it hiked over my individual finger hairs.
I watched it walk like it had a purpose,
and looked at the way my porcelain skin divided into the colors of the rainbow in the sunlight.
And then I realized, not for the first time, that the universe can't even feel me on it's hand.