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justvalerie_jsPoems
Wandering through this hostel, it was never quite my home Different rooms, different people, different stories How is it that their circumstances became my life… Is it worth my time, my effort, my happiness… my sanity Walking through the faux wood doorway, photos on the walls Distant memories of what it was to laugh… and to love Broken glass on the floor, the frames long ago shattered… Much like our dreams of happily ever after. My beautiful crimson sofa, turned into a bed. The bed of a 60 year old alcoholic who I call dad Tables converted to dressers, pill bottles litter the rug… No longer a place to live, but a place to slowly die An empty sink, an empty wine bottle, an empty fridge What does it matter to cook a meal that won’t be eaten Fast food wrappers fill the trash, among the cheap beer cans Much like the stench of burnt coffee fills my nose A ***** bathroom, for ***** boys, with whom I share this space Toilet seat always raised, **** stains lining the bowl Beard hair, toothpaste, razors… that dingy ring around the tub A garbage full of used tissues, the floor littered with clothes A closed door that leads to a black room, with black walls Black metal, gory video clips from youtube, hateful faces flashing Food wrappers litter the floor, along with knives and guns Hatred and pain seep from the keyhole as I avert my eyes To the trains and plains comforter, a dreamcatcher hangs nearby Action heros, matchbox cars, an unmade bed, overtaken by imagination The 13 inch t.v. switching between Disney and an old Gamecube The smell of a sweaty mohawk, and a feeling of unabashed loved Until finally I can retreat into hiding, to a bed with a story or two Clothes to be folded, empty wine glasses, ******** on the bedside table. I shy from the mirror that hangs on the wall, and drift off slowly to sleep Drowning myself in forgetfulness, wishing it were that easy… to forget
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Jul 2, 2019
Jul 2, 2019 at 1:21 PM UTC
Hostel
Wandering through this hostel, it was never quite my home Different rooms, different people, different stories How is it that their circumstances became my life… Is it worth my time, my effort, my happiness… my sanity Walking through the faux wood doorway, photos on the walls Distant memories of what it was to laugh… and to love Broken glass on the floor, the frames long ago shattered… Much like our dreams of happily ever after. My beautiful crimson sofa, turned into a bed. The bed of a 60 year old alcoholic who I call dad Tables converted to dressers, pill bottles litter the rug… No longer a place to live, but a place to slowly die An empty sink, an empty wine bottle, an empty fridge What does it matter to cook a meal that won’t be eaten Fast food wrappers fill the trash, among the cheap beer cans Much like the stench of burnt coffee fills my nose A ***** bathroom, for ***** boys, with whom I share this space Toilet seat always raised, **** stains lining the bowl Beard hair, toothpaste, razors… that dingy ring around the tub A garbage full of used tissues, the floor littered with clothes A closed door that leads to a black room, with black walls Black metal, gory video clips from youtube, hateful faces flashing Food wrappers litter the floor, along with knives and guns Hatred and pain seep from the keyhole as I avert my eyes To the trains and plains comforter, a dreamcatcher hangs nearby Action heros, matchbox cars, an unmade bed, overtaken by imagination The 13 inch t.v. switching between Disney and an old Gamecube The smell of a sweaty mohawk, and a feeling of unabashed loved Until finally I can retreat into hiding, to a bed with a story or two Clothes to be folded, empty wine glasses, ******** on the bedside table. I shy from the mirror that hangs on the wall, and drift off slowly to sleep Drowning myself in forgetfulness, wishing it were that easy… to forget
justvalerie_js
Written by
justvalerie_js
39/F/Cleveland, OH
Jul 2, 2019
Jul 2, 2019 at 1:21 PM UTC
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