Abandonment
Abandonment, by Elizabeth
Writing from our talented client, Elizabeth
Abandonment.
Time doesn't exist anymore.
Everything just passes like a blur.
I woke up to a nightmare.
Home-fullness is a dream to come true.
Déjà vu is no reality,
Except the experience of abandonment...
This is better than your back being violently pushed up against a wall.
Do I live in a tent?
Or a Teepee at an anti-logging old-growth forest protest campsite.
Do I sit on the steps and sleep there, owned by the church.
Or do I just walk the familiar streets until my feet blister, and the pain intercepts the one in my heart that knows there must be a love-full home somewhere.
To rest my weary head.
To recollect.
To rest.
To no longer detest.
To reinvent.
The Bag Handle
One of our talented clients share’s her powerful work
Writing from our talented client, Elizabeth
I clutch my bag's handle like it's life's worth.
And, becomes a pillow that gives me dreams of escape
from reality's nightmare of being homeless.
Having no personal windows to look out from.
To see and think in a world's safe perspective.
No doors to lock to receive privacy granted.
Normal is imperial, and far away, and a marriage,
like the stolen pride when no longer an opportunity in having the experience of housekeeping.
Home is where the heart is,
And, the heart needs shielding like being in a home.
I knock on every door,
desperately wishing I had my own.
No shelter midst the heart's, mind's and soul's storms,
the biting air and sedating heat of the sun.
It's best just to continue to sleep and stay unharmed.
Good friends are the friendly folks suffering the same, that are informing me how to remain sane.
Nothing to familiarise with when looking into the mirrors, but a suffering soul.
Dissociation is an understatement.
Choices don't exist, like making my own bed.
The nicest people suffer the most.
And, continuing to clutch my bag's handle while I sleep.