PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Home is such a stupid word

A silly, fanciful "harmony" of a family

We are nowhere near a "home"

We live and breathe in this disjointed mess

Nowhere near a "home".



She sweeps through the halls and rooms

Blesses all with her sanitary touch

The scrubbing, washing, mopping, working, sweating

Or in her kitchen, her artisit's easel

Screaming, "Out, out, get out of my kitchen"

Cold, sterile, flatline, rude

But in tending her offspring, she is warmth incarnate

I am a black sheep, and I am

Nowhere near a "home".



And here he comes stomping, pounding the floor

His frustration is aimed at me

Picking fights, instigating me to screaming

And when I tried to end my life, his only words:

"Why did you stop?"

I am a black sheep, and I am

Nowhere near a "home".



He lives in the dark of a den

rarely sees the light of day

Doodling in his sketchbooks, sitting in a pile of dirty clothes

And yet, she holds him up as

a shining child, a wonderous role model

Her son, her baby boy

I am a black sheep, and I am

Nowhere near a "home".



Her baby girl, a giggling time bomb

Light-skinned mocha child of 12.

She thinks she's in charge and knows all

Her temper flares spontaneously

Her words have tried to hurt me, but they fail

I fear her lashing out at me, throwing things

over the metaphysical line that splits

up our room

I am a black sheep, and I am

Nowhere near a "home".



Yes, I am a black sheep living in fear

I hide and stay away from them

They are a family

and I am an outcast

Because I am the black sheep, and I am

Nowhere near a "home".