This house

Stony clad, pebble dashed,

Nineteen thirties,

An eyesores worst nightmare.

This is your house,

This is your world, your inner

Sanctum, of love, peace and harmony,

Well…..apparently.

But the arguments within

The constant squabbling,

Have worn you down,

They have wrecked the foundations

Of your stability,

 

This house,

This house of concrete, bricks

And shame, has

Torn you in two.

It has smothered you in

Confusion, riddled you with pain,

The walls are lined with arguments

Drunken rows and hate.

 

This house,

This house of abuse,

Secrets and domestic heartache,

Alas it resembles many,

But this one is your place,

Your depressing compact palace

A violent damaging domain.

 

One day you will leave

Get clean away from its frame

Until that day arrives

This house is your grave.

The skirting boards will haunt you

The doorframes lock you in

This house will scar your future

And taint your relationships.

 

Because regardless,

Of what you heard at school

Regardless of everything

You were lead to believe

The warmth of a family

Can sometimes go cold,

It can quite often detain

A deafening frost, a malicious chill

That holds every member

Of the beautiful family circle,

In a depressing mould, spurred on

By unhappiness, frustrations and

Ill matched relationships….

Yet, it is only the children

That will suffer….

Oh yes….

Only the children will suffer.

 

This house,

This house of mental abuse,

Of bickering and rage

Words of spite, tears of pain,

A slammed down fist,

A make up kiss, an arm around

Your shoulder, a fiver to get by on,

This house has,

F*****g destroyed you,

Morally unhinged you

Sent you to the corners of

Your psyche reserved for a lunatic,

Battered your confidence,

Fuelled your insignificance,

Shattered the belief that your

Point of view held substance,

And all because the adults, couldn’t

Contain their own inadequacies,

Couldn’t confront their own

Inabilities, to admit their faults,

The collapse of their dreams,

The holiday to Spain never

Papered the broken seams…

So,

So they take it out on the kids

The once idolized off spring,

Have a shout and a hollow

To make themselves feel better,

And if the young have an opinion

It’s inevitably wrong,

And they should know, cos their pasts

Are peppered with mistakes and regrets…

 

This house,

This house of Everest double-glazing

And council tax failings,

Of smiles at the front door

And courtesy to the neighbors,

This house,

This collection of mood swings

And rubbish bins,

Of adolescence misinterpreted,

Confrontations at the dinner table,

And the plans for you

That you won’t have a say on,

This house,

This semi detached of working

Class crass, is completely detached

From love and confidence,

It is a blot on your happiness

Even to this day,

It has wrecked special relationships

Because of the emotional asbestos

It has left within,

How can you move forward?

When it’s still got you locked in?