deepundergroundpoetry.com

when home doesn't feel like home

I own these streets
like I own my own skin
painfully with only a touch  
of self awareness
and a sense  
that I don't quite belong here
regardless of how well  
I know my way around
 
We don't talk anymore
beyond the angst-ridden riddles
and lies we can't bear to tell ourselves
never mind each other  
 
When the words spill like wine
across the walls  
I can't help but step out  
into a world my sadness knows  
with a depth beyond sanity and reason
 
On these streets I have spilled
my tears and blood and more  
I've prayed to a God that doesn't listen
I've found no answers here  
only my lonely thoughts late at night
when there is no one around  
to see me cry  
 
And truth be told  
I don't want you to see me now
strangely at home with the pavement
pressed against my face
feeling like the trash  
I was never born to be
 
I never wanted this place
to feel like home  
I always sought to fuck familiarity
for the lure of adventure
but I let life hold me down  
and suck my wild spirit from my veins
until I was unrecognisably tamed
 
I own these streets  
like I own my own skin
they feel like home  
though I'm not sure I'm home  
In either  
 
But there will be no more yelling
and wine on the walls tonight
while I walk these streets I know
 
Indie Adams 2018
Indie
Written by Indie (Miss Indie)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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