Home is a Feeling

Home isn’t a place, it is a feeling
It’s the blanket of stars that cover me each night
The sky is a canopy of kisses
Home is the rush of the ocean waves
As they crash into the solid rocks of the shore
I notice while walking by
I feel the ocean mist spray my face
I taste salt water on my lips
Home is a steady ship in a river of doubts
Home embraces me tightly and allows me to cry
All the pain I carry inside
Home soothes me
It melts the ice cave I created for myself
In order to have the illusion of my own protection and safety
Home doesn’t judge me
It waits like flowers ready to bloom
After heavy doses of snow have melted
In order for the buds to finally reach their true potential
My home is the universe and I am only a tiny piece of it
Home is the beating of my heart
As it races with fear while I run away
From all of my troubles into darkness, seemingly alone.
I test my surroundings to find wool in my hands,
This reminds me of safety and security,
I emerge from the enclosed quarters of a closet,
To smell spices and sweets,
Home is a warm and full belly,
Contentedly, I could lose myself in a favorite book
Or the mind of an intellectual,
When I am tired of the indoors,
I explore my world and step into rain puddles.
I lose myself in my childish splashes
I fling my hair into my face
I am singing my favorite song but also laughing freely
I stop to see an animal rustle in the bushes behind me
Friend or foe, I think to myself.
It doesn’t matter
I see a rainbow highlighting the sky above me
I am home; I smile



Love Rocks

Love Rocks

                                   Love Rocks

I was with you when I found my heart
It took me a while to realize that I needed you
But my need became a parasite
I took and took all that you gave to me
With no remorse for the consequences
Then I realized my actions and told you NO
I gave you walls in hopes of my own protection
Walls, I thought, could stop your love

But it didn’t

And I decided to let you in
Hot and cold I became
Uncertain if it was worth it
Uncertain if I was the one worth fighting for


Covering a Meal

I watch as the spiders make webs on my windowsill
I wonder about their social structures
And what possibly they are trying to catch
I do not like to think of myself as naive
Though my reality is quite like a daydream
Barely existing
I see the world as if I were living on a cloud
Now that cloud is surrounded by thin layers of silk
The webbing twitching with a fly
And the spider rushes from its secret cove
To cover up its fresh meal


Bee Sting

As I glanced at my Romanian pendant,
The light had caught it,
Making it appear to look like
A bee stuck inside amber.
The charm,
Now I realize,
Is a bee sting.
Hurting my soul
Is the constant reminder
Of what I will always miss,
And never be able to name.


Tattered Dream

Photograph from internet of William Shakespeare’s quote: Expectation is the root of all heartache.

If you walk past me and see
That I am a tattered dream,
I want you to know
That you could have saved me.

It’s not that I need saving,
But that loneliness becomes too much
Of a burden
Silence as clear as glass.

Am I not worthy of love?
Am I unworthy of the same
Material possessions which you enjoy?
A home, a bed, a hot meal, and some clean clothes?

I wish I could not make you afraid of me,
Of the presence I know myself to shame.
It is not me that you see,
It is the struggle of my orphan hood.

A child cannot know safety if the father is absent.
A child cannot know love if the mother is absent.
Orphan, alone, neglected.
Because of what?

This word, this mark cuts me to my bones.
It slices through my heart like a razor.
It makes me feel the cold.
An absence in my soul; “too much,” it says.

The emptiness surrounds me.
I am blanketed by the stars above me,
And the ancestors who watch me.
While the darkness overtakes the cold.

Alone, alone. The orphan always alone.
I know I have lost my way.
I do not know who I am.
I start to think if it even matters.


As I dream of my so called better life,
I know things could have been much worse.
At least I am alive, I tell myself.
But, being alive is not the same as living.

I am a ghost girl, walking amongst the living.
Trying to become whole, complete.
But I am too shattered.
My fragments of dreams have died in each lover’s hands.

The illusion of love seems to be the only way
Of forcing myself to become real.
To no longer dance the song I am forced to dance.
I want to sing the song in my soul.

The beating of what I listen to is of my own heart.
Bruised by each failed attempt at mending myself.
Shakespeare once said that expectation
Is at the root of all heartache.

He is correct.
I expected to be sheltered by my family
Instead of thrown out into the nothingness.
The wolf laughing while his yellow eyes gleam.

So I say to you, if you see that I am a tattered dream,
I want you to know that you could have saved me.
You could have listened to my heart beating too,
And brought me away from the cold.