Why is it, that i feel so alone
In this place i used to call my home.
With these people i used to call my friends,
Why did it all have to end?
Was i pulling away?
Or did i run out of interesting things to say?

Why did they feel the sudden urge, or need,
To lock the door on me?
Knowing full well the locks on the other side, and i dont have the key.
Why did they have to leave?
What is it that i couldnt give?
How much of it was a fib...

And it hurts to be left alone
In this dusty old home.
Void of any other life
The pain cuts like a dull knife.

I want to reach out
But my insides twist with doubt.
So i sit on a lonesome chair,
And into the oblivion I stare.
My mind is buzzing
And this empty abode begins humming

I'm sorry.
If that's what I'm supposed to be.
My mother always told me
I need to increase
My humility.

I'm sorry.
Truly painfully.
But I'm stubborn
and can't afford
to be
small.

Because my ego is
built like a house
That I live in
and breathe for.
I worked
for this house.
For this roof that covers my head
and no one else's.

Look,
I'm sorry.

Passionately.
For who I know
and who I do not know
how to be.
**** me.
I'm Sorry.

If we’re stuck inside with snow up to our doorbells
Would we learn to play nice?
I can be a recluse on any floor -
Buried deep in the basement’s cobweb corner
Into the arms of an evergreen gently tapping against windows, ushering us down & out.
The thin line of sunshine from an attic skylight
Reminding us that winter has stolen our passionate burn,  
Or could we sit by the fire, rubbing hands
Breathing into palms,
feeling warm, alive, at peace.
Building snowmen with twirling hands,
packing memories & stories so tightly
that they could never melt.
And as the fire builds
As the winter drips away,
Do we love the roof we’re under?
Do we need the light of day?

I'm a man of the internet, all sad and depressed
Who clicks all day, what video is next
Who reloads his page, not for his own book
Who expresses his pain,  here you can look

I'm a man of the internet, just kind of indifferent
Some things are funny, some things are interesting
Some grand political scheme clashing together
Who is wrong, who is right, how? however

I'm a man of the internet, all weird and excited
Eccentric, and youthful. Socially invited
I can hand you a million memes all day
I could plan a meeting with you today

Not all words need to be typed
Not all scenes need to be screened
Not all dreams need to be dreams
All you see is what you believe

A window to a door and I'm out of the house

1.  Dust is constant. It is a symbol of time telling you that either something needs to be cleaned, or you need to take a picture.
There will never be complete cleanliness so when people say "cleanliness is close to Godliness" promptly hand over an invitation to have dinner at your dusty house. And then show those people where you pray. Notice that sacred space has dust.

2. Chairs are complicated. They can have 4 legs, 5 legs, no legs, wheels on their legs. Chairs are such a wild forever changing species that we don't really have a good concept of what a chair is. Which begs the question, what is true chairness? Plato believed that somewhere somehow there is a perfect concept of such things. Which begs the question, what is it to be truly human? From where I stand, we all wear skin, breathe air, and hate high school anyway.

3. Appreciate your couch. I realized this at a young age when I figured out that dying means, never seeing a couch again.

4. The bed is not sacred. It is not a stronghold or sanctuary. It is the place you go when you are either done or satisfied with the world.

5. Windows are the windows of your house. It doesn't sound as good as eyes being the window to your soul but my point still stands. The windows are beautiful. And snowflakes freezing on them is a captured moment of nature being transparent.

6. Take a painting class. Learn how to make art on a canvas and hang that **** up. Buy a painting for no other reason other than that it costs more than $50. Travel and bring back a print and frame it. Learn to cross-stitch and hang that up too. The walls may change colour from time to time, but at least hang something on them.

7. Look for imperfection. When I was a kid I took a pencil and wrote in jagged penmanship "The end" at the bottom of my staircase. My mother, of course, scolded me for writing on the house, but for whatever reason, she kept the phrase there. Maybe because I knew the end had to be somewhere and I might as well end in the home I started in.

8. Buy refrigerator magnets that teach kids the alphabet. Organize them so that reading a message in the morning makes breakfast seem a little more inviting. And as a firm believer that breakfast is not a necessary meal, I too, need something in the morning to make me feel less alone.

9. Fill one closet with cleaning supplies. We may never get to the end of many tasks, but we can clean this house. Clean the cupboards, wash the windows, sweep the floor, write on the walls, just so you can erase it. And when you finish cleaning, and you bring all of your supplies to that closet, organize your closet. Notice that there is a small amount of dust on the shelves of the closet.

10. Work around the house, big or small, is never completely over.

There aren't enough words in the world
Nor enough time
To tell you all my regrets as I tell you goodbye
...
There aren't enough emotions in the world
Nor enough tears
To tell you all my heart feels as I smile and walk away
...
Because how can you leave someone
Who was the only place that felt like home?
...
Yet that's exactly what I did
...
Because houses always stand longer
When there's no poison to ruin it
...

There once was a house that sat all alone
With untended shrubs and shattered windows
The walls were lackluster. The rooms were vacant
The ceiling and floors were cracked like the pavement
This house was abandoned; without an owner
And insects and rodents had all taken over

But one fateful night as it was storming
Lightning flickered without fair warning
The house ignited with blazing fire
And burned from within like a funeral pyre
This broken home came tumbling down
And, nothing but ashes covered the ground

You look like home
Like my dad’s hugs
And my mom’s kisses
And family cuddles

You look like home
Like the beaten down couch
And my brother’s music
And my sister’s paintings

You look like home
Like dark orange walls
And just a little too cold
And with some hard edges

You look like home
Like the torn up garden
And my dog’s face when we leave
And winds whistling around the corners

You look like home
And I don’t want to go home