May 28, 2009

I hate this place
more than anyone's words
could possibly describe. The smell
overtakes my nose and works its way into
my brain, where it is burned into my memory forever.
Just  the  atmosphere  of one segregated  part of my life  has
the tendency to make my skin crawl. It feels as though debt, shame and
unanswered questions are burrowing through my body and taking
over my soul at the same time. It is an understatement to say I
don't fit in here. I feel like the black duck trying to fit in with a
family of white geese. This place is the reason for my hatred
of anything traditional, the reason for my desperate
attempt at being unique. Who would guess I come
from a place so barren, so *****, so
empty? A place of constant
attack and scrutiny
and  yet,   this
is  home. This
place  is where
chapters of my
history   have
been  written.
So  many  of
my tales have
------------------------------------------------------------­-------------------------------------------------
been  etched   into
these     walls.    This   is
where my   unlikely         fairy tale begins.
This place             keeps          me safe            and
always  saves                      room for               me at the
table.                    These are my roots.                  My support
system                         that always                    keeps me                anchored.

Happiness is what?
Three point five kids and a mortgage
That won't last as the boundaries change
Instead of happiness look at the little pockets of happy
Oh they pass you each day
Make them your purpose
Accomplish that and you have happiness