Am I Home; Even Though I Don't Feel There

This isn't really a poem, but it's more artistic truth of what my mom did to me when she bought a new house. I just got fed up with it and wrote some of my feelings out and this is what I got.

It was January, a very cold one at that, when my mother told us that she had bought a new house. This came as quite a suprise for me because I did not know that she was looking for one. I was told that the move would be "better for me" than living in the city ever could be. I felt alone although I was with my brothers, who did not have to live in the new house.

The first time I saw the house the wind whipped at my face as if slapping me purposely. The house was not old, but yet it seemed to be falling apart, surrounded by the old memories of someone I had not known. As time went on I saw the house more and more, even though I had not begun to live there, as if being conditioned to it before I moved.

My old house was warm, full of life. It kept me company through good times and bad ones. This house seemed to be the one constant in life, it would never leave me to hangout with friends during the week, but it would never be able to talk to me although I felt like it knew my feelings. I never had any reason to think of living anywhere else, but in the end it was not my choice, I had been tricked away. My stability had been sold to the highest bidder it seems. The one thing that had been there since the day I was brought home from the hospital was now so foreign to me.

The house in New Jersey became an object of confusion and chaos, as if it had wronged me in some way. The months of summer, the days that were meant to be my first in the new house, drew my emotions to a boil. I had begun to hate it. In this house time flowed differently and life seemed almost dead. This house became cold, a sign of senseless emotions that could not change anything. These emotions had no target, no direct object, but instead they are only exist with no true purpose. The house had not created these emotions, but brought them to the surface of my thoughts.

When I finally moved into the house it was nearly winter again. The long days of summer months behind, a new school year nearly a quarter gone, left me longing to be someplace I was familiar with. School became an escape from exile, an exile that had been brought upon me "for my own good". People who know so little about me dictated those things that make my life better without consulting me.

Now looking back on all that has happened I feel that it has made me stronger in some ways but weaker in others. Life is a road riddled with obstacles and mine are earlier rather than later. I have been stuck in bad situations, but it appears that by where I have been there is nowhere for me to go except up. My past few years have created dark turmoil, but they will lead me into a bright future.