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Neighbors

It's a real fixer-upper, isn't it? This empty space where my soul lived With termites and cobwebs and water damage From all the tears I couldn't cry. It used to be a good place But then the neighborhood got bad. Death moved in when I was seven And his cousins Grief and Depression followed right along. Not long after came Obesity, That fat old uncle who won't go away. (He enjoys home cooking the best, But he'll eat anything.) Alcoholism rolled into my life a year later Driving a shit-green and rust Ford pickup. Terror and his roommate Paranoia came next And we hung out a lot for the next several years. I met Desperation for the first time when I was fourteen. She cut my wrist (just a tiny mark) And smiled at me with those sharp, pearly teeth. Crimson-haired Loneliness and her lover Silence Broke one of the beds one night. Rage moved into the attic and nailed the door shut. (We only hear him when he stops shouting.) Self-Esteem got locked in the closet - Did we ever let him out? And all the rooms got trashed because of the drunken fights. Suicide paid a brief visit, Threw me a surprise party with Desperation's help, And seduced beautiful Silence before he left. Loneliness reached out to Desperation in search of something That neither could ever hope to find... Now most have moved out - Death leaves me pretty much alone Although he sometimes visits my family. Grief left a long time ago, But Depression is a frequent house guest. Obesity still lives here, but I just don't pay attention anymore. Alcoholism got a Suburban and lives on the other side of town. Terror and Paranoia stay with him most of the time But visit me on occasion, just to let me know that they still care. Desperation and I have grown apart over the years, Although we still chat now and again. Loneliness is a frequent companion, But Silence tries to avoid my company (I don't think she likes me anymore). Rage is taking his medication And he's trying not to punch holes in the walls anymore. Self-Esteem actually poked his head out of the closet recently. Suicide writes threatening letters, Never actually stopping by. And the big news is that My soul might actually move back in someday. It's a real fixer-upper, isn't it? I'm going to have to change that.

poetry

How very simple life would be If only there were two of me A Restless Me to drift and roam A Quiet Me to stay at home. A Searching One to find his fill Of varied skies and newfound thrill While sane and homely things are done By the domestic Other One. And that's just where the trouble lies; There is a Restless Me that cries For chancy risks and changing scene, For arctic blue and tropic green, For deserts with their mystic spell, For lusty fun and raising Hell But shackled to that Restless Me My Other Self rebelliously Resists the frantic urge to move. It seeks the old familiar groove With hearth and home dear prisonment That habits make. It finds content, With candlelight and well loved books And treasured loot in dusty nooks, With puttering and garden things And dreaming while a cricket sings And all the while the Restless One Insists on more exciting fun It wants to go with every tide, No matter where… just for the ride. Like yowling cats the two selves brawl Until I have no peace at all. One eye turns to the forward track, The other eye looks sadly back, I'm getting wall-eyed from the strain, (It's tough to have an idle brain) But One says "Stay" and One says "Go" And One says "Yes," and One says "no," And One Self wants a home and wife And One Self craves the drifter's life. The Restless Fellow always wins I wish my folks had made me twins.
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