Home Is Myself
long ago
i was unwanted
grandpa
never praised me
though i worked
hard
even for
one word, perhaps
love or
even a pat on my shoulder
which i never
really had
papa i remember
bought me
a toy chopper
but that was just
once
he was not drunk
when he played with me
in the garden
when you feel unwanted
you do not
have friends
you have nothing good to say
it was early
for me to learn that
dying can be good
i never speak to anyone
about it
i only speak to myself
because i have
no choice
i love isolation
it becomes a way of life
never had a best friend
never had a circle of
friends
as a matter of consequence
i become too independent
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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