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I have lived in the basement of glass houses
all my life many pretend to understand me, my words does it seem to matter much to me? that, they don't understand me no, not really the world has gotten so complicated people don't get involved there's so little time then there's the distance in between us and the barriers both those imagined and unimaginable all those excuses we are all the Immaculati little pieces of the divine gleaning nothings ceding nothing what are the gains the shards of us are too many too scattered to put together brokenness sometimes doesn't get fixed the broken often exist until they exist no more I saw that with my Mother and my Father they both seemed to be stepping up forming a line for this I didn't want to join in, nor wait for the end too... just another lost chance at wholeness again don't think I ever had that with family ever maybe the debris was too scattered to piece us all back together it was all a fairy tale story; I told myself the comfortable lie one to rock myself to sleep to; it was a whirlwind of foolishness I don't have a heart like others do its pieces of glass barely held together with cracklings then some crazy glue until another grenade drops or who knows what or what says who? I must have a chest of steel a pericardium of steel a will of steel and the dumb stubbornness of a goat otherwise, why am I still here? Immaculati is a made up word my boyfriend B and I created today and is included in the sense of COPYRIGHT HERE. a HYBRID OF TWO WORDS. Copyright Melissa A Howells Meloo/Straight from her Tilt-a-World The Author Retains All Legal Rights to This Writing. All Poetry/Prose/Ideas/ Rants are the Legal Property of this Writer Melissa A Howells/Meloo /Tilt-a-World COPYRIGHT NOVEMBER 11 2014 ALL RIGHTS ARE RESERVED BY THIS AUTHOR Vote for this poem |
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