Home

They say home is where the heart is

and my heart is where the art lives.

 

So where is my home?

 

Art lives within us all

and begins an internal/external exchange...

a process

like humanity to trees.

We stop, relax, breathe

as one.

 

So where is my home?

 

First Contact was my spiritual home

gave meat and marrow to

broken spiritual bones.

Fris taught me bout putting the world on mute,

to just chill a little

when life gets hot.

Concentrate on the task at hand

then

POW

headshot!

 

So where is my home?

 

Lived in Ashton for four years

in

December, slowly draws near.

Hated it for two years

still felt homeless.

Just bricks and mortar

  • it didn't feel like a home yet.

Decorate with posters and geeky memorabilia,

pictures of my friends,

Lyla pride of place

in the front room – ma familia.

Now it finally feels mine

home not house

feels sublime.

 

So where is my home?

 

Fell in love with poetry

spoken word flow-etry.

Manchester's a great scene,

an atmosphere so serene.

Supported on the open mic

then I made my own night.

 

So where is my home?

 

Visited a lady in America,

a lady by her nature.

Nature of the life

as a vagabond

art takes ya.

Love is an art form

not truly explored.

Love is full of clichés

hated and deplored.

I love love

and I love art.

Right hand, white band

sleeve on my heart.

Knew it was the place for me

by the second day,

rocked the mic the second week

  • knew I had to stay.

Cried on the inside when I had to leave her

hugged at the airport...

I'm sorry that's a cliché.

Then with great sadness

I flew back to the UK.

 

So where is my home?

 

Arrived home

but it didn't feel like home.

Getting snappy, feeling shitty

don't feel at home

in this city.

Mum talked shit

whilst the phone was on speaker.

Said I'm bi since I'm desperate,

lonely and needy.

Said I travelled to America

just for a relationship.

Didn't realise what we have

is more than a relationshit.

She's been a great friend

for going on nine years.

She's been my best friend

for almost five years.

I love her like I love her

no words that are cliché

no words can justify such closeness

is what we say.

 

So where is my home?

 

Scared for the future

and working to the bone.

Spoken word and OpenMind

just to make this goal.

I don't feel the love as much

and in truth I'm feeling stressed.

The weight of this city's

knotting chains around my chest.

 

So where is my home?

 

My target is America

what happens when I get there?

What happens if my love is ill

and I start to get scared?

Not been a man for granddad

fighting cancer three years.

Look death in the eye

and keep running from these fears.

What if my mum's right

and I slowly start to sink?

Calculation,

subjugation

of the mind -

I need a rethink.

Have to beat my demons

before I reach for the future.

But will my future wait for me?

Tell me, what would you do?

 

I don't feel right here

but I still feel scared.

What if you need me

and I'm not there?

I've fucked up in the last year

three times and counting.

And though our bond is so strong

I find myself doubting.

I hope I'll always be there

at times when you need me.

But what if I'm not

and your love and friendship leaves me?

 

I wanna be a better man

and meet my expectations,

free myself from bondage

and self-hating degradation.

I'm not my mum's family

or any of their history.

So why torture myself

in self-destructive misery?

How many fucking times

must I repeat these affirmations?

Instead of making me calm

they just bring me frustration.

 

I'm a good person

but bad memories haunt me.

Wanna be a better man

but boyish bruises taunt me.

I wanna feel home again

home is where the heart is

and my heart is where the art lives.

 

Instead of going postal

I'll post my heart to you.

Place it on the canvass

give it life like you do.

So paint pictures with my tears

and vanquish fears -

you're a great artist.

 

I paint with words

and you speak with paint.

When I believe in me again

we'll paint something great.

Fall of Man is me

and Fall of Man's the project.

Time to be real

and not just a prospect.

If a man fall's

at least he's still a man.

 

And with a goal in mind

I'll be the best man I can be.

Will I miss

or is it bliss?

I truly cannot know.

 

How will I ever

find my home

if winds of change

won't flow?

Change has to come within

and within is where the art lives.

So I'll create my home

with the paint that my heart gives.

AmericaartcommunitycreativityfriendslongingloveOpenMindpoetrysupport

◄ What is this you call victory?

Finding the Beauty in Christmas ►

Comments

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Andy N

Sat 12th Nov 2011 11:00

beauitfully wrote, Indigo... maybe a little long but since i know you and know what has inspired you in it, i can't fault you as it's wrote so beauitfully from the heart.. keep em coming buddy

Lizzie

Tue 8th Nov 2011 23:49

Love the flow of this poem, beautifully written.

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