Poem #1213 Homeless Words

I've worn holes in my slippers
for all the times these feet have
paced hardwood floors in my kitchen.

Grabbing a coffee cup each morning
doesn't rid me of the void I have,
resting deep within my soul;
scattering pieces of me all over this house.

Masking pain has become a daunting reminder
of how old these wrinkles are and can I do another day?

I ask myself questions while a cigarette dangles
from a mouth that never speaks of sadness,
truth pours out of my fingers onto paper
these days, left in poems to be read by lost
eyes and loving spirits such as myself.

Being a poet has left me scarred,
lonely at times, as I swing my crossed leg
during a dance I call the anxiety shuffle;
but it allows me to continue on this journey
of mine.

Whispers call to me during moments I have
when I'm sitting alone in a paint chipped
hallway, while smoke rings dance with abandoned cob webs;
those messages are words that have no home- so I slowly
finish my smoke and give them a title called,
Poem #1213 Homeless Words.