ILoveMyAbbyGirl
01-31-2004, 10:14 PM
I wrote this just now. Don't bother reading if you don't want to, it's just a rant. I thought about this last night, the first night at my mom's new apartment. To put it bluntly, I hated it. It's just not mine yet, like, you know how it is. I got homesick. At your own house you know the sounds your room makes, where everything is, the light that comes from certain places. You just know your own bedroom. At my mom's, it was so crazy, I hated it. Well, here it is.
__________________________________
I sit alone, absorbed by the darkness of this room.
This room is going to be mine, not yet decorated or organized,
not yet my very own.
I lie alone on the bed, staring at the blackness of the ceiling above me.
The tears that are caked on my face are because of a small, stupid problem.
I cried those cold, dry tears, thinking about you.
How this wasn’t my room, it wasn’t anyones.
I cried because this wasn’t supposed to happen to me.
Of all people, it happened to me.
Now I’m torn and I can’t decide anything.
This isn’t my home, this isn’t my room.
This isn’t me.
I cried those tears because I missed you, missed my room,
my house.
It’s not mine, it never will be.
So as I sit there, absorbing the darkness,
remember, this will never be my room.
But this will always be my life.
I get caught in the middle.
Crying those tears of pain that you never seem to see.
Crying myself to sleep because you left.
My family is torn straight down the middle.
I was stuck in between.
Torn down the middle.
This will never be my room.
I slowly drift asleep, thoughts of happy times
float through my head,
happy families, happy children, no torn families.
Maybe if I just find some strength,
glue,
pull the pieces of my shattered life back together,
paste everyone back into shape,
get things set straight.
I won’t have to cry at night because I miss you.
I won’t have to stare at the blank dark walls.
I can go back to my old room.
__________________________________
I sit alone, absorbed by the darkness of this room.
This room is going to be mine, not yet decorated or organized,
not yet my very own.
I lie alone on the bed, staring at the blackness of the ceiling above me.
The tears that are caked on my face are because of a small, stupid problem.
I cried those cold, dry tears, thinking about you.
How this wasn’t my room, it wasn’t anyones.
I cried because this wasn’t supposed to happen to me.
Of all people, it happened to me.
Now I’m torn and I can’t decide anything.
This isn’t my home, this isn’t my room.
This isn’t me.
I cried those tears because I missed you, missed my room,
my house.
It’s not mine, it never will be.
So as I sit there, absorbing the darkness,
remember, this will never be my room.
But this will always be my life.
I get caught in the middle.
Crying those tears of pain that you never seem to see.
Crying myself to sleep because you left.
My family is torn straight down the middle.
I was stuck in between.
Torn down the middle.
This will never be my room.
I slowly drift asleep, thoughts of happy times
float through my head,
happy families, happy children, no torn families.
Maybe if I just find some strength,
glue,
pull the pieces of my shattered life back together,
paste everyone back into shape,
get things set straight.
I won’t have to cry at night because I miss you.
I won’t have to stare at the blank dark walls.
I can go back to my old room.