The Castle Arroyo Part I I live in the castle Arroyo. The moat is red and the guards are tall and proud; They do not care for hugs or hand shakes, But prefer to wave at a comfortable distance. My quarters are in the West Wing. I have a large window, Naked and bright The sun visits in the morning, Bringing with him rude yellow light. The corridor carries the news, Traveling voices to my door in superb sound, I oft’ believe they are standing right near. Likewise, having my own words delivered Is something I oft’ fear. But I did not sit to describe the place By every brick and stone. I’m sitting here because at last it seems I can sit here well alone… I don't remember the feeling of solitude; I can't get five minutes of silence or an hour without interruptions. And all I can do is smile and try to enjoy small talk while secretly wishing to be left alone. Can't even finish a thought without someone walking in; the phone ringing; the alarm beeping; Mexicans singing. Technology's a bitch. Even my little happy heroes that plug into walls and blink are failing me lately and put me on the brink of crazy. I press a button and things self-destruct. I'm the villain for my own heroes. Just ask the people of Arroyo. I'm never there when I ought to be, don't do enough to make the queen happy, I'm stupidly standing when I should be on my knees, I feel like I'm puffing but can't blow a breeze. The Lady and I aren't at all at ease. Here, one does not walk on eggshells, we walk on nails and screws and other sharp objects not yet swept up. Only the thickest skin survives. And here in Arroyo No one speaks the same; We can’t understand each other, Can’t interpret or translate correctly. And our tongues are bewitched, Lashing out when we mean to be polite, Sounding cold when we try to be calm, We snap, forgetting to love. A week ago something heavy fell on me; Stuck to my back and won’t let go. I’ve tried to rid myself of it, Hoped the Queen would banish it, But it’s still there, hanging heavy, And often throbs when I escape duty. Every time I feel myself sigh, I get the feeling I'm going to break down and cry. Sometimes I’m happy but oft’ I want to flee; Nothing is as it should be.