Writing Me Up

Writings by me, for me. Forgive me.

Tag: Home

  • Where The Heart Is

    Where The Heart Is

    —

    by

    rak
    in

    Not Here Or There it is a small house nothing fancy or special it is just a home

  • That Place In Your Heart

    That Place In Your Heart

    —

    by

    rak
    in

    Where The Heart Lives the place we come from though we may leave it behind it never leaves us Photo by Kelly on Pexels.com

  • Some Home Truths

    Some Home Truths

    —

    by

    rak
    in

    What A House Contains the family home sanctuary and refuge sometimes a prison Photo by Sebastian Su00f8rensen on Pexels.com

  • The Terraced House

    The Terraced House

    —

    by

    rak
    in

    The Terraced House It was up a hill but a step down from the place we had called home. It was all my mother could afford after they split the money. A terrace, not a semi, with two bedrooms instead of four, a pokey living room and a kitchen like an ice cave. The back…

  • A Place In The Country

    A Place In The Country

    —

    by

    rak
    in

    A Place In The Country I live in a house in the heart of a city I always have, always will, very probably, where acres of asphalt abound and surround me, with neighbours in earshot and too close proximity. (whatever I do I know they know about it, whatever they do I just don’t really…

  • Floods Of Tears

    Floods Of Tears

    —

    by

    rak
    in

    Washing away homes, breaking hearts, minds and spirits. These are floods of tears.

  • Elsewhere

    —

    by

    rak
    in

    If I was elsewhere Though I might feel happier It wouldn’t be home

  • No-one Will Love Here

    —

    by

    rak
    in

    A new building site Cheap homes, a bad part of town No-one will love here

  • It Falls Down Slowly

    —

    by

    rak
    in

    There is always work A home never just stands still It falls down slowly

  • A House

    —

    by

    rak
    in

    A house. Four walls, a roof. A container. It keeps things in, Lets nothing out, Not even hope. Feelings wither, Unreciprocated, Damaged, Both, apart together. Dreams die, Strangled, Unarticulated, In these silent rooms. Side by side We sit and hide From each other, Unliked lovers. Here, in this house, We see only Something Neat, painted,…