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why am I still here?


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





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