Family of Choice

30 more senseless minutes left,

All to voyage home to the empty basin

With a roof and shutters that I turn down everytime

I am there.

I keep searching for home in dark bars,

Cubicles, sunrises, lover’s mouths,

Fruitful landscapes, sensual touches and

Disposable memories.

Home is a state of mind

And I have gone bonkers

Trying to solve the last puzzle piece.


I have learned there comes a point,
When you are too sad to go outside.
The laundry machine’s won’t hum.
You eyes pander to moving vehicles,
your soft edges become thick, hardened shells.
No, it’d be wise to stay in and listen to the drone of the television,
your cats maniacally purring, tender voices wistfully
having conversations in the distance, just outside of arm’s reach
just outside the rim of any of your cares.

I heard others who talk all day long about warm rooms,
kind people who don’t take pity on long-faced, sullen eyes,
and dancing even!
But I have come to learn there is just a point
when everyone who looks at you can tell you
are too sad,
too buried.
And so you take the long walk home,
watch the glistening to christmas lights still hung
on banisters of quiet homes,
in an April, almost summery sky,
and you go to bed
and hope tomorrow’s not the same kind of pointless endeavor.
And you imagine, somewhere someone is thinking a simple comforting
“I wonder what she’s up to tonight.”


No te entiendo, y no es justo y no puedes y no tienes derecho, no despues de lo que hiciste. Aunque no hubieras hecho lo que hiciste, me empujas a hacerte pagar de las peores formas y no aprendes, cinico, perro es como si nada importara, pero aca hay algo que si importa que no vas a estar conmigo en mi cumpleaños, nunca mas.