some people

didn't walk a mile and a half to get here and it shows.

finding shelter in Los Angeles is
as hard as finding a lover in Los Angeles
as hard as finding a mother in Los Angeles

where is your father in Los Angeles?
who is my brother in Los Angeles?
this is why my sister ran from Los Angeles.

I keep the secrets
of all of them
to myself
because I am scared
to give my nightmares
to someone else.

some people
didn’t run
and fall
off the 405
in the middle of traffic
in the middle of a human beehive
with a broken nosedive

a 21st century meltdown
lives under the streets
of Ventura Boulevard
and it shows.

we used to live with the windows down.
we used to share nicotine air.
we used to be used to something.

home is just a place
where my head sleeps and roams
where domestic animals sleep at my feet
where spiders bite between my toes
where milk and cookies are stolen
before midnight
where dad smokes weed in the garage
where mom plays the piano
and stares at the color blue
where sissy straightens her hair
late at night to be pretty for school
where brother plays tag
on the internet
and clings himself
to cigarettes

home is just a place where no one is home.

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