My step dad divorced my mom and she went a little off the deep end. She didn't have a job, and was mentally unable to get one. We lost the house she and I were renting. She was willing to sleep at the mission or where ever she found a park bench. I was not willing to live like that, so the age of fourteen I found myself on my own. I got a job (had to fib about my age) and lived with families from my church and school friends.
Between the ages of 14 and 18, I moved 18 times. I became good at packing and moving. I kept things in boxes and only unpacked the essentials I needed for everyday. As I got tired of moving things became less important to me as it got more and more difficult to lug stuff around. This caused me to have a hard time putting down roots. To this day I have a hard time thinking of a home as mine, or even putting my things out. I actually still have things in boxes. One of these days, I want to really feel like I am home. I am going to take every last thing I own out and never keep boxes again.
These four years of my life were some of the loneliest of my life. I used writing and music as a means and release of not holding in the anger and the pain. Most of my writing was poems, but I also wrote some short stories. Some of the people I have shared them with say they are very sad and very dark. Yes, they are, they are a reflection of some very dark thoughts, sadness, and despair. But this was my release. I was able to go on about life, function and not fall apart or explode.
Having said that I want to share another poem I wrote. This is one that my English teacher asked me to submit for our class anthology. This one is a bit darker than the other one I shared in my other post. I clearly remember the day this was written. I felt very lonely and empty. I was thinking about my childhood and the abuse I had endured.
Single, salty tear creeps down,
leaving behind a wet trail.
Hot and bitter,
Fires of anger, drowned by fears.
Pain fills the slaughtered soul.
Billows of coldness surround.
Time can't heal the memories.
Hand of pain,
Invisible, unbearable scars.
Thoughts of intense agony.
Pleas that fall upon ears of the silent.
Detachment of mind eases the pain,
but only for a time.
Walls built up, only to be torn down.
Protection can not be found.
blur of the day.
Eyes grow heavy,
Struggles begin once again.
gasping for air.
Only a dream,
but reality holds its context.
I promise, I will also share some happy stuff I wrote and I have started writing again and when I finish something I will share it.