I hate this place
The ants that trample throughout the room
Climbing up my legs, tickling me with their antennas
Making a mockery of the cleanliness of the place
Daring me to spray them once again
I hate this place
Earwigs running rampant
As if they own the joint
Pay the rent
Provide the food
I hate this place
With its crumbling walls
And dirty floors
Carpets that smell and cannot be cleaned
Reminding me that the garbage has to be taken out tonight
I hate this place
With its useless insulation
That refuses to keep me warm in the coldest of winter nights
And does little to shield the noise from upstairs
As the curses, laughter and talk invade my private space
I hate this place
Dirty, grubby, ant infested, ear wig invaded hovel of a home
Still, I scrub and clean cursing under my breath
Pay another month
And hope my landlord falls into the river and clears his head
I hate this place
But not for all that I mentioned
I hate this place
Because
Its traps me down and pulls me under
In its symbolic fingers of my life
I hate this place
And all it represents
As I breathe my last breath
It’s fingers griping my throat in tight embrace
As lights leave my vision and my world turns to darkness
And the ants crawl up my neck to live in my head
With the earwigs
And I simply vanish from sight
Beneath the dirt and grudge of life
Never to be heard from again
Help Us Stop Plagiarism -
Nearly all works at PnP are original. However a few people choose to plagiarize.
To check, choose a phrase from the work, then either drag and drop to the search box or copy and paste.
click on search and works at Google will be shown which match. Just to be sure, please do this before
you recommend or rate the work highly...
Thank you Robert and Mary. In fact, this is my home - I'm in the process of fighting my landlord with legal powers to improve the conditions of the building.
Now that I've stated that...Robert, you are correct there is poetic license occuring here. Through the use of describing my home, I am able to symbolize how I'm feeling around my life. As I stated in another poem, depression is a dragon which lives at my door....some days I slay the dragon while others, he enters in using many different forms. For this poem, the dragon took form as disorder, insects and disrepair.
The parallels I'm speaking of are oftne seen throughout our world - take a long at any city. Where there is slum, there is sadness, depression, poverty, a sense of isolation from everyone. When the slum is fixed up from those living within (not those living on the outside) the ones living there often experience a sense of hopefulness, happiness and pride.
These are the parallels which I speak of in this poem.
Everything O.K. hun? I grew up on the streets of Chicago. Know what? I lived in apartments that had MORE bugs in them that the gosh darn streets! I know the feeling well. I remember closing my eyes and trying to ignore the tickling under the sheets. I tried to imagine it was water lapping at my legs instead of the bugs. Only then could I sleep. You'd swat at 'em forever and not get any sleep if you didn't. *hugs*