The Room With Burnt Edges

 

My life has been everywhere
Ever since my life has been in pieces
I find bits of me in people i have never met.
And those i have.

You know, it's true when they say
"Home is the mouth of a shark"
Home is also the mother of it.

I have known my mother since i was born
My mother has known me since i was a grotesque piece of mass
Floating, growing in her womb
Crawling through her and
Gnawing at her edges and
Sucking her own life to fuel mine.

If i am a ruined piece of paper
She is the bin i am thrown in,
If i am a flesh eating monster,
She is my mother.

Her mouth is a tree with strange fruits of sweat, blood and all that she put into her love for me.
If i am dead,
She is the fruit,
The snake, an oblivion.

I have searched for home long and beyond,
Beyond shores and mountains and the heart of the earth beating like its somewhere between danger and safety,
Danger is,
Danger is not.
A game of Russian roulette except you are solo.

I have battled doe eyed demons
And fairy nymphs whose squeals steal all the voice from your tongue,
Because in their squeals are subtle truths and heavy lies.

I have searched for a home, the home, any home
Far and wide
In the wilted wonders of my own mind
Wilted because of the childhood turned to dust
Because there wasn't enough water in the sea
Because the shark drank all of it
Because it thought itself an extension of it, not the other way round.

No sharks, no mothers.
No blood, no bloom.

I have again and again
Trespassed the gardens of many
In search of a nest i could fit in
A nest that could fit me
As small as it could be
For it did not matter the size of the nest
It only mattered the people living in it.

My father built a house for me.
My father also left me.
My mother baked me cookies with icing on them so i couldn't stay away.
They called our house a home
Because pretending is easier than trying.

My mind has wandered into places i could never belong.
Family.

There is a warm solace i find in corners, you know.
My heart is a cool breeze and my mind is full of pretense just like i was taught.
But my eyes,
My eyes are full of honesty
Full of things i can't unsee
my scars, their scars, the screams and the wallowing,
The curved lips without crinkles in the eyes,
The stares that pierce dimensions,
Noises of footsteps creeping slowly,
My heart thudding a bit too loud,
Then,
Then the shadows under my door.
And night.

If i was to be a dream,
It would be a dream of butterflies with broken wings and ugly crooked teeth.

If i was to be a ball of yarn,
My blood would be the cat.

If i was to be somewhere,
I would be here,
Writing..

Because that is where i find my home.