there is something comforting in knowing i'm all alone.
lights in the living room and kitchen are all turned on,
keeping the room well lit is important while alone,
and the sounds of the apartment shift and creak
it's a cacophony of fixture and mix tapes
something that i enjoy, something that heats through me
right down to my organs.

when i was a child, my brother was five years older than me
and my father was never home, and my mother was always painting,
which left me a lot of time for myself.
at first i was confused, bored, unsure of what to do with myself,
lonely.
then i discovered that my stuffed animals and beanie babies could speak
and i gave them the power to show me their world, the
beauty in story telling and seeing colours on the ceiling.
staring long enough i could see the shapes move, as if i had just
taken acid.

it's a gift i thank my family for giving me.
the power of being alone means that
i will never be lonely, and that
words will always be with me and i will
always see the colours on the ceiling.