Growing pains

Growing pains.

 

This house is a safe house, secure a strong hold

Large like my father’s hands.

I feel its peace unlike when I was born

Saturated in blood…a flood by my mother’s tears;

When I was growing up I was not allowed to speak

Play with any of my friends toys.

Or play football in the park.

 

The familiarity of this place begs me not to leave

I didn’t marry the neighbours,

But they are like weeds under my feet 

The only reason I’ve not been evicted

Is because I own the title deeds.

 

Outside is dark, cold and callous

I can hear them gossiping again

It’s so much like living in hell

There’s always a new accusation,

I’m tired but can’t get no sleep.

 

I used to be so full of life

A friend to all who would pass

But those neighbours disliked my private life

And covered their lawns with

The charred remains of my bones..

 

This house is safe secure

There are moods within its walls.

Moods of light within each room

Moods created by the

Different coloured paint

And my paintings on the walls.

 

There are pictures of children I do not know

Embracing the walls of this place

They tell me that life is sacred like water

As they play by the water taps and drink cool aid.

 

Emotionally I’m stable now

But the echoes of abusive

Plague my resolute mind.

I purchased double glazing

But the sound of wolves still howl.

This place is now my church

I’m glad to worship here

This place is no longer a hospital

Where I have bandaged all wounded souls.

 

This house is safe, secure but there are no pita patter

Of tiny feet or laughter or clinking of glasses at feasts

Just the familiarity of solace as I possess the life I’ve built.

Others have careers and families…my legacy

I never turned a wanting soul away.

I gave an alcoholic a frozen chicken and said thaw it

That’s on me for Christmas day.

 

Its new year’s night and I hear the sound of the odd firework

Yet the sky outside is still as dark as sin.

I flick the remote to share my thoughts with the world

All seems desperate in the real where wars are fought

And famine carries on.

 

A determined teary eyed eleven year old carries dirty water

In a pale on top of her head.

A little to drink a little to cook and the rest to

Wash Jesus’s weather scared feet.

 

This house is warm

You could grow tropical flower in it

If the soil was right

Or if I ever opened the blinds to let the sunlight in.

Right house wrong location

People say that don’t they

But in my case it’s painfully true.

I will uproot it and plant it next to the pub in Leicester square

You watch me I’ll do it in the spring.

 

There’s always a friendly welcome

And no one who knows you knows you’re there

You’re allowed to wear your heart on your sleeve

Be the person God created you to be

And share your passion for life again

If only for one fanciful day:

 

This house means all too me now

For 45 years on earth it’s all I have to show.

One day I will too die

And leave this mortal life

Of pain misery and sorrow.

 

The neighbours will have a field day

And celebrate like it’s the 4th of July

And the only memory of me

Will be the this shell I leave behind.