I was inspired to write because I feel
because I want and I need and the ink from my pen continues to flow...with all the emotions that are made from the human heart...
I know that I want love. I want happiness. I want a home.
In love I have a relationship that is proabably the closes thing to both love, happiness and a home that I have ever had in my life. For that I am greatful.
But I also feel pain, and loss and nostalgia and a great desire to reattatch myself to all the things that mean myself and home. I need good 70s music because brings back memories that I can't even make sense of...the smell of pot and beer surrounding me and people laughing and having a good time and though they were poor in a way they were happy...because for a little while that pot and that beer and that music and the company of good people that understand you is enough to make you feel rich. Rich in a way that no amount of gold could make you know.
And I need my sister, because now I still have to endure the fights that my parents go through and at this point of desperation in their lives things only get harder and the fights are only more frequent and more violent. The other day I watched my father point a gun in my mothers face...at first she held her hand up as a natural instinct to defend herself but then as she realized that a bullet would go through her arm she let her arm down and gave into the fact that if he were to shoot she would die....I saw this and the same night I went into an insane fit of shaking and screaming and laughing hyesterically because nerves in my body were going off with themselves...I needed to be locked away that night...in an insane asylum and constrained down because I was a danger to myself and everyone else because I didn't have enough control to even breathe.
This is all ouring out of me now and I am sure that my sister feels it too. Because maybe she remembers late nights comeing back from Tennessee and how she would hold me in the back of the car and let me sleep in her lap and cry...because maybe she remembers me running into her room on nights that my parents said words to each other that would make your blod freeze, running and letting her rock me in her arms and cry until I was safe enough in my own head to leave again.
I need to know that everything will be okay...I only have hope left and you can only grind your hope until nothing is left but air...and I can't really breath anymore.
I am not finished with this I don't think...this may be just the beginning...but for now reflect on this, and to a few people you may know exactly what I am talking about...to a few the words that are pouring from my heart are so close to the feelings in them that our lives seem parallel...but to others maybe it will at least entertain...maybe it leaves you with nothing and to those people I envy the most...because if you don't know what I am talking about you have lived a truly blessed life and you are the luckiest motherfucker I have ever known.