Skip to main content

Homeless.

I hate my house. I can describe it for you in a single word; detestable. A stranger would usually say, 'That's such a hideous thing to say, mate'. But I'm so full of people telling me I should be grateful for there's a roof upon my head, I've got a good bed to rest my shoulders in, there's always food on my table so that I don't starve, shoes on my feet, and clothes to keep me warm in the unfriendly nights of winter. They keep telling me I should be thankful for every brick that made up the walls of my house and for every grain of sand or cement that held them together. And they are right.. Half right, at least. That's exactly why I swallow the sentences that can get me killed by their judgement. That's me in a nutshell, always too anxious to slam doors or spit fire. But I still carry all the anger my ancesters could give me. I carry their will to break the chains that cradled me here.
Most people don't understand anyway -I know it's such a condescending thing to say- but when I say I hate my house, I don't really mean it. What I verily mean is that I hate the monsters living in it; the ones that don't leave; the ones I can't outrun. And my house is full of them. Eating into my flesh in each corner and at each bay. What awful thing must I have done to deserve this unjust punishment? Was I cruel as a child? I'm sure I'm cruel now. I have grown heartless with some sharp teeth and claws. I can no longer touch a fly without hurting it. Oh Dear lord! This house is changing me. When did all get so wrong? If only I could know.
In my stupid dreams, I'm constantly fighting this voice in my head that tells me to leave everything behind and just make my departure. In my dreams, I'm the homeless piece of shit who has renounced every place he can call home. I am a wanderer. I'm curious for love among other things. I'm in the pursuit of a place that doesn't seem to exist; a house of comfort and resting peace. But the path is endless with no compass to save me from myself. I see one signpost that says Go ahead and I do, yet with no sense of direction. Hoping it will lead me to another human being. What will I do if I'm the last person on earth? What will I do?

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Covered in lead.

This morning, I hated my mug with the words "Do more of what makes you happy" encrypted on it, I let it slip inbetween my fingers like paper. I didn't brush my teeth first thing or take a shower. Rather, I stayed motionless in bed. My mom made me the breakfast I never laid my hands on. Today, I feel out of character. Really out. I'm having one of those out-of-body experiences, and to be honest, I'm not very fond of the photograph I'm about to see. I don't love the body I was incarcerated in. I'm an object slowly drowning into a thousand disguises I should have worn. I try to swim my way out but I'm anchored by all the books I read, all the movies I loved, all the people I cared for and left. There will always be this layer of lead surrounding me, preventing me from grasping the marvels of the world. If only I could touch it, smash it into a million pieces before it changes into fog. My pain is wearing a bulletproof vest underneath his garment. My p...
Post a Comment
Read more

The pursuit.

You just realise it after spending 21 years chasing a phantom, after hitting nethermost zeros or being at the toppest climaxes and definitely after having a few phases of deep reflection where you start debating everything you have ever experienced. We sketch happiness at the end of each line and we feel entitled to it. We work our asses off and do everything right hoping it would be adequate enough and that things would cosmically align. Little do we know that pain is always part of the process. You can't enjoy every rain drop and every storm along the way without getting soaked. You can't find home without feeling lost at first, you can't feel connected with somebody without the jadedness of waiting, you can't have a best friend without the awkwardness of beginings, you can't negotiate in 'now's without saying goodbye a couple of times, you can't find faith and trust without the sharp pain of disappointment stabbing you in the chest, you can't be s...
Post a Comment
Read more

That's what writing is to me.

I'm starting to think that people usually perceive me as a writer and I remember saying when I first started writing that I don't want to be looked at as such. It's a responsibility I am not willing to take. I only write for my own self-amusement and relief and that doesn't qualify me for anything other than being a friendly neighbourhood thought-giver. Some scripts aren't so personal that I choose to share them with the world. Others are just better kept unsaid.
Post a Comment
Read more