The Color of Night
Behind the closed doors of my childhood
I have lived my life.
In my room, a separate
Compartment of safety and solitude
From a stormy combination of chemicals,
A bubbling brew called “father.”
Struggling against the rip
Drowning in his tides of darkness,
I fought to stay afloat
Learning comfort comes from solitude.
I walk away too easily, tossing people in my wake,
“It is less trouble to be alone” I repeat.
I fill my days with events and errands,
My nights with marijuana and TV shows I’ve already seen
Attempting to fill an empty space, a birthing place,
A universe filled with my father’s indifference.
I crave what I have no roadmap for
And I search without knowing north.
Am I lost if I don’t know my terrain?
Loneliness is just a frame of mind
A filter to look through
A decision made unconsciously
A badge, a lost battle.
It doesn’t need to define my daylight,
Because it colors my night.
Ms. Thompson spends much of her time napping, smelling the roses and perfecting her talent for procrastination.
Please find her poetry in several publications: Hedgerow, Cadence Collective, Red Light Lit, Silver Birch Press (Green, Silver and Summer Anthologies), Pearl, Cactifur, and upcoming in Mas Tequila Review and Lummox (#4).