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The Young Vandals

“Home is where?”

By Isaac Haldeman Published 2 years ago Updated about a year ago 2 min read
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J&S aka The Good Crooks

They say,

“Home is where the heart is,”

I say,

My heart is in my chest, so I must be home anywhere stay!”

Confident statement,

Stated by a poser.

Because I lied.

Two children have already pried open my breast.

Lifting my permanent place of rest.

The bandits both exist as three forms, all at once.

Who they were. Who they are. And who they will be.

Past to future, present, and future to past.

Always during the now.

My stollen home, I pray, will last.

Till long after my deathbed tchau.

At the closing of our forever conversation.

I bet it happens with laughter then a vacation.

To spread my ashiness to a few familiar, unvisited locations.

Home was where my heart used to be.

Until J&S plus grande petty b&e.

The young vandals took my “MINE” away from me.

Snuck, on a moonlit night, popping out the fire escape window.

With the knowledge of my self-portrait hidden vault.

Wide-open talks.

It’s my fault.

Two bright shadows spun the combo until,

Sha-CLICK...

My “Stay Out!” sings failed to do the trick.

Fingerprints left all over.

Brother and sister seek the exposure.

While there, they even flipped and tossed some insecure traits.

Their wreckful love keeps me from future fates.

No fear of dusting, they intended to leave a trail.

These goons had blueprints. They knew they couldn’t fail.

Plans granted to them by their mark.

"You are just too open," judgmental barks.

Ok.

I'm caught

My soul saw what my fearful self could not.

Banking up your love is like refusing to be.

I now know love is meant to be nurtured, to then be let out to breathe.

In so doing, we avoid the rot.

My heart was took by thieves, who jacked my stash of fear.

Not named the wet or sticky bandits.

They are the good crooks, we like the ring of that in our ears.

They’ve shown me that my heart isn’t to be locked uptight.

Though the days they're away, their symphony of breath is missed at night.

Home is where my heart is, and it’s been given and shared by two…

…Ah! P.T.L. Now it’s three.

“You feel like home, I’ll say.”

They all three agree.

Now time for round tables and talks.

Open those chats wide,

So each boundary line is shown and safely tried.

Then we’ll see all our homes travel amongst this den of thieves.

Each of us have our own unique set of keys.

No crowbars or picks we'll need to try.

Safe haven from a world full of lies.

Everyone in this home simply has to be.

To fully love, we all fully see.

So,

Grant light to who we conceal behind our self-e portraits.

It may help solve our imposter plight.

But

What does this guy know?

He even writes for the show.

I.H.

performance poetry
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About the Creator

Isaac Haldeman

NYC

I enjoy stories and telling them.

I’m the rich father before I am the poor artist.

Working on a novel. Why is it so hard?! ;)

@isaachaldeman

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