Mona Lisa

Mona lisa my heart.
Look but don't touch.
It's smart that you left it to fall apart.
California will sit and mend it.
He will stitch up the tears,
but the scars will still be there.
They will sulk in a war of definition.
They will stop in the middle of a combat zone.
They've been there so long, I'm beinging to think they're etched in my bone.
I can't get them to go away.
I've tried so hard, it's almost as bad as my yearning to go home.
But what if going home is like placing a bandaid on a
bullet wound?

The Boy

The boy, at home, was left alone and cries for my protection.
From miles away I can hear him say, "I don't know why she left me."
But what do I do when I crave shelter too, and just absolutely
have to be free?