In life we originate our lives, core beliefs and decisive thoughts from our home, however not many writers discuss this private component of theirs or of a reader’s life. Tall dark walls canvasing the darkness of overbright pastels, fading light that resonates that life will be over soon. Depressing symptoms of social anxiety to mix and match with every given holiday or be outcasted as a martyr. Periodic light ever so bright, illuminates the common dwellers known as neighbors and community. “Why does life cater to this step-to-step melancholy existence.”  Brick, Cancer infused siding and crumbling plaster barriers make up my torture chamber for 18 long years. A death sentence for a youth with so much inexperience of the world but not to those mostly my age.  Yellow tube bananas on skating wheels drive me to a smoke-filled castle of half-baked knowledge where many are more interested in the physical science of peer pressured sexual idealizations. Trojans and Newport 100 wrappings are a plethora around this secondary home. No, I don’t live here- but sometimes if feels I do to alienate myself from familiar existence and oppression.

               My proverbial cold war continues each sunrise of this prison sentence, yet the super powers be closely one and the same. Online attractions and perceptions of another world excite me, one false hope of Disney World starts the downfall of juvenile delinquency. Once in a castle, within days a cube box cell and writing surface surrounded by metal pretenders and mall cops as babysitters portray my stance of education is crucial or valued.

               Creativity is all I can muster as I fall into a slumber when the castle ignores my coursework. MCAS Underperforming staff and students cast a shadow on those like me who suffer when we can’t discuss ideas outside of conventional thinking. I’m told this isn’t NYU it is substandard public education in an underperforming state taken district. Graduating from this institution wouldn’t hold any merit, exactly like a paper mill granting manufacturer of framed diplomas.

               Turmoil is forecasted rapidly soon, as a mentor and protégé of my grand family faces immediate death and decline. Life was so beautiful with biographical memories of how true love does exist and lasts until death. A young man soon to be drafted solider working at the Victory Theater as an usher sees during his shift of “It’s a Beautiful Life” a beautiful dame, surrounded but her girlfriends- but Arthur was creative with his flashlight and acted as a nuisance to earn her annoyance and obtain a date. Wasn’t until both were heading to a new life, that age disparity was never a concern back then but today would be an uproar in the public eye.

               Siting here in the dilapidated home I spent 18 years of prison life as a youth haunts me with both positive and negative emotions and visionary images running like a quick film flood me with anger, confusion and questions. This is now my asset from a deliverer of a jail sentences, bail revocations and life sentences just in a different room and bench number. Why does life for a youth from the start provide them a life sentence of pain and disparity? Financial ruin and poverty are all traits of my siblings, that have abandoned me yet I have turned heads with my devotion of success, drive and existence. It wasn’t always this way; I remember weekend excursions with my siblings and papa at the BIG E for concerts of my idols yet in the other dimension they were sex symbols of what I wish I was.

               If only the real barbie had a voice and brain would possibly this world, home and house be more than a maleficent socially inclined disappointment. At my current stage, life continues to be a free-for-all escaped from prison, that prison no one should ever even a youth be accustomed to. Years of being anti-social drained my emotionally jealous of those who could engage and speak so easily, Trojans and Newport’s coincidently still roam the halls of this new improved prison of intelligent “cell” mates however joints, vapes and edibles are now the big hype of escape.

               At this new home, I am not the only prisoner- the only youth suffering from ideations of escaping the social norms of stressors by being part of a wasted existence.

A light, ever so bright-

The dark thick like bark.

Shadows of leaves,

Stealing my oxygen as thieves.

This hidden note of death- as youth presenting her threat,

Does it matter it hasn’t happened yet?

               I’m not housed at NYU, but things are just the same- generational disparities and snot nosed behavior where many don’t live in reality and oppress those that are below them- but truly they realize they are so close to those they despise. Even in a drug course, these peers are blinded by what’s right downtown and in the next city. As beautiful as this prison may be, take a walk, jog, bus, drive or ride and see the world in its true form. One wrong mishap and these users are you and I.  Isn’t this the private life, I choose to write about that no one dares of the home and house- I can never be Poe, Dickens or Chauncy but my portrait of life is ever more so biographical and less non-fictional.

               My Social anxiety of life started at the home, or is a house? Illusionary memories confuse both- from one prison, jail, sober house, halfway house, college, university or residence its all been the same.

A light, ever so bright-

The dark thick like bark.

Shadows of leaves,

Stealing my oxygen as thieves.

This hidden note of death- as youth presenting her threat,

Does it matter it hasn’t happened yet?

Now, I’m always in the light- are you?