Belated

The following were written on tiny slips of paper. Life was exceptionally rough at the time and I've been carting around these tiny chunks of mental vomit since. I have decided the time has come to dispose of the tiny blurbs. But first I thought I'd record them here.

There are times
There are times,
too numerous to count,
when I think to myself...
"I don't know how much more of this I can take."
Then a clear alto voice rings in.
It registers softly yet firmly,
somewhere between the past and the present.
"You'll take as much as it gives." It says.
"and you'll say thank you when it's finished."
And though I hate this.
Though each time I marvel at the pain,
the fatigue,
at the surreality of each instance,
I know she's right.
And each time I say thank you.
Even if it may sound more like fuck you.

Gone Wanting
I recently welcomed my dear friend into, what has become known as,"The year from hell."
We're going on our fifth year now, it's truly quite remarkable.
When the latest event added itself to the menagerie of catastrophes, I thought to myself, "again?"
So another home flooded.
Another period of wandering from place to place wishing that home felt like home.
The part that frightens me is the absence. It's like traveling. It's almost fun for a few days, sitting on floors, dressing from knapsacks, walking blocks to bathe, but then you reach a point when you think "hey, I want to go home now."
But home has become a myth. A concept glorious in its foundation, but transparent in its reality. Home is the place you go when you want to feel safe. But now, be it my ark, my friends apartment, or my childhood residence, home is a vacant edifice.
I have hands reaching out from far and wide. Offering whatever they can, and yet I feel more alone. As though no matter where I go, I'll still have an absence waiting.
Home has changed from a place to a feeling. It's an idea of security, not physical, but emotional, and there are few, if any (at the present) who represent it.
Family helps but hurts, friends know but don't quite understand, and the rest feed the dryness that stings your soul, reminding you that absence is a reality.
Inherent in existence.
Innate in its function.
Painful and painless.
A missing.
An abstract void.
A home gone wanting.