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January 2009 
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Posted on Jan 8th, 2009
by 
AngelosPsycho
AngelosPsycho
"The home is where the heart is."
My heart is not at home.
My teachers love me so deeply,
more than my legal guardian aunt,
more intensely, passionately,
then my own mother.
This school of brick and mortar is my real house.
The teachers are my parents,
the counselors, guardian angels,
the other students, siblings.
I sleep in a building made of brick and mortar like
my home is, but it is not
my home. In here
I am as a troubled, bothersome ghost;
I drift by, leaving the other cold,
wanting to fight the chill-
or what caused it.
But fighting ghosts does nothing.
They only get angrier.
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