Horrible.

Why do you have to  be such a good person?
Why do I still have it in me to hate you?
Why can't I just stop?
I have come to the conclusion as of late that I am not as good of a person as people may believe.  I hate people who are happy with one another and I hate the people I have lost.  Someone can make the kindest jesture toward me and I will still hate them.  Just because of my situation.  I hate it but I know it will never change.  Its one of my fatal flaws...

Home Is Where You Make It.

These walls they know my pain.  This paint it shares my tears.  These nail holes they understand each and every scar.  This unfinished house represents me in every possible way, it comprehends each and every moment.  I've grown up here.  My height has been measured in sharpie on the walls.  I have sat in each and every corner whether it be for punishment or losing my self in a novel.  This house isn't just a place of residence it's my home.
Yesterday I got the 90 day notice.  This home is no longer mine.  I have to pack my books, my Nic-nacs, and my pictures.  But the thing I am putting off most is packing the memories.
I always hear of the people who 50 years down the road still live in the houses thier children grew up in... I hear about getting a complete tour of that house with each and every detail maped out.  From where they lost thier first tooth, to where they stood when they came home from thier High School graduation. 
I will never be able to bring my husband back to my fathers house.  I will never be able to show my husband where I used to sit and stare at the painting on the wall for hours gettting lost in the beautiful sun sett. I will never be able to show him the  place of my childhood. But what hurts the most is that I won't have the opportunity to show my kids where I went through everything they have gone through and all they will go through.
But I guess I'll get over it eventually.  I'll find a new home.  It won't be a home though.  It will simply be a house.

For my Father. My Back Bone.

i can feel the pain.
its spreading from the inside
out.
i thought i would be able to mask it,
when the time came of course.
but now that
the day has arrived for me to
walk alone,
i don't know if i can walk at all.
it's beginning to cripple me,
this pain,
or at least i am made to believe.
it started out as an
annoying ache in my abdomin
but has progressed to where
i'm affraid i'll soon need a full
body cast.
i always knew that seperation would be hard,
leaving my backbone behind
while i go to live my life,
now thats a
different story.

Allergies.

For as long as i can remember I have always been the sniffly friend, the friend who can't feed horses, the friend who is so conjested she can't see.  For as long as I can remember I have always been that friend.  My best friend pointed this out to me not too long ago. 
You see she knows me like the back of her hand.  Of course she would she's been my best friend since kindergarten. 
Anyways I believe her exact words were "You're the sick kid friend" it actually made me chuckle because its the honest truth.  and my prime example of this is a time when Dina and I were in the 6th or 7th grade.
Dina's mom was always into wild life.  She had a pet raccoon for the majority of our childhood and she nursed a baby blue jays back to health to many times to count on one hand.  but inparticularly she had a weak spot for horses.  Which would explain Dinas love of the creature.  One time she took Dina and I out to her friends ranch where we were always welcome to explore.  This day we didn't feel like adventure much so we decided to feed the horses.  We fed them alfalfa.  One of the many plants I am allergic to.. almost immediately my hand started breaking out in little red bumps. I asked Dina what we were feeding them she replied "I don't know... stuff you feed horses?"
Appearantly she wasn't comprehending the seriousness of the question so I asked her again "what are we feeding these horses? i really need to know."
She replied "probably alfalfa. why?"
My heart stoped. I had always heard of those people dying because of stuff they were allergic too.. and I was a very over dramatic 13 year old. "I'm allergic to alfalfa!" I shouted as we began to run toward the house.
When we got there her mother emmidiately told me not to touch my face so of course my face started itching uncontrolably because it was the one thing that I couldnt touch on my body..
Dinas mom turned on the hose and washed off my hands and the bumps went away.  I was fine.  but to this day I'm iffy when it comes to what I feed animals