Broken Homes

My parents used to tell me to toughen up

I never really knew what that meant

I'd stand there, arms at attention waiting for a command

Skin like tree bark from years of torrential rain storms

Rifle in hand waiting to unleash on the next poor soul who crossed my gaze

When my fists would curl up like wrecking balls

Longing for a broken home to knock down

The teacher’s voice would echo in the chambers of my conscience

Begging me to think of the kids with no home at all

Telling me demolishing another’s house won’t make yours comfier

The only way to make it better is to tear it down and start again

And so that’s where I started

Building a house is difficult with a razor and cut up tree bark

It peels and breaks in the harsh winds

Leaving nothing but a home’s broken carcass