My address is in a neighborhood in Connecticut where quiet roads border the houses, and the woods make all sorts of noises at night. Every now and then a horn gently honks, car doors slam, and the dogs seem as though they’re telling each other a story. I live where I feel secure and the distinct feeling of each season as time goes by. It’s hard not to feel safe where I live. The rainstorms even feel relaxing as the raindrops bounce back up after hitting the road like liquid bouncy balls.

In my heart, I live where I try to find myself and my desires. I live here with gentle intentions and a personality that’s difficult to read. In my heart I live where everyone feels like they have a purpose, and when they’re put down, they get right back up and continue what they know is right to do. I live where reality doesn’t live, but anyone is welcome if they show kindness.

In my head, I live where the pros and cons struggle to be number one; one by one words form to create my poetry. My thoughts race when I’m ecstatic or miserable. In my head is an imaginary world where everyone is accepted for who they are, and it’s easy to be yourself. I know that you only live once but I still can’t shake the thought that I should be impressing everyone around me.

In my family, I live where I feel smallest. My older brothers and sisters have jobs while I’m stuck in school. The love is powerful, yet I feel my words go in one of their ears and out the other. I live where the memories are both wonderful and gloomy, but either way, none are forgotten. I live as the different one because I’m younger, which isn’t always bad. In my family of six others we love each other despite the faults.

Politically, I live in a country I can only wish were free from violence. I live where the Pledge of Allegiance is a constant reminder of how fortunate we should be to live in a country of freedom. There’s war against other countries and each is recorded in books where their memory lives on. There’s never-ending controversy about what’s happening, and if you want your voice heard, it feels as though you have to take a number. The feeling of freedom slips away, like trying to catch water with bare hands.

Artistically, I live with music, writing and a pencil to express my feelings. The notes I press on the keyboard express my feelings in an unspoken way. Expressing things in music can be an intense way to sort out feelings. It’s easier to tell my journal thoughts than others. It’s something I can write and re-read and maybe have a better understanding why I feel a certain way. A pencil can draw what I wish were really there. I can draw my wishes or a fantasy world to escape to for a while.

Spiritually, I live in a world where what you believe is what is going to happen. Spiritually, good conquers all and always ends up on top. You can’t always tell what I’m feeling. My feelings are hard to read. You just need to ask me how I’m feeling to know the truth.