Home
I tried to make a home in a home that wasn’t meant for me.
Deep within the woods, there was a cabin that sheltered me when the world was too much to bear.
During my stay there, the faucet dripped alcohol and air vents blew puffs of smoke that lingered and left an unintentional high.
In the bed room, light peered through the window right above a bed.
The bed sank deeper with every pound of pressure i put on it.
Nights in that bed were very lonely.
So much emotional baggage was left there, in hopes someone would help.
The ceiling leaked as if the rain were tears
And it could no longer hide the pain it silently endured.
I tried running away from home but always found myself returning time and time again.
Sometimes i returned after the house was abandoned.
Upon each return, more damage appeared and the door became harder and harder to open.
I would pick up all the broken pieces and admire them because there was still a beauty to them.
I hope someone sees the beauty others didn’t.
Sometimes i return just to get a glimpse of the past. A simpler time, before the foundation was cracked by lies.
I feared the house collapsing because i was afraid of losing those memories stored inside.
Looking at the cabin in the distance i realized
I can not make a home inside a home i do not belong in.
Copyright © Steven Clair | Year Posted 2019
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