I wrote this poem, because over the past year, I’ve lost a lot of people. I’ve had a very rude awakening that everything is, in fact, temporary. So, this is for those I’ve loved and lost, for those who packed their bags and left, for those who just dropped their room keys at the front desk and sped off. They all can probably find themselves in this poem, one way or another.
My heart has become a motel
in the worst part of town
rented out to local drug dealers and prostitutes
lovebirds and lonely men
The dealers who get high off power
have no problem wrecking their temporary home
overdosed on stolen souls and borrowed time
The street corner sweethearts who look for love
late at night
come home to vacancy
the thermostat is broken
so it’s always so damn cold
Couples flock to their rooms
as soon as they’re handed the keys
Some alone time at last!
in between the four paper thin walls
it’s just them
and all guilt
is left on the dingy doormat outside
Isolated men
find their homes inside this motel
and their heart at the bottom of a bottle
their lives a series of 9-to-5s
and half-warm microwave dinners
sat in front of the TV
My heart is a motel
no one stays for too long
