Home

Mom, I miss home— Not the place I live now, But the place I had in the past. Sure, you used to hit me, But somehow, I think I was happier then. Back when I still had a sense of childlike innocence. Your blows only stung for a moment. Now, the hits have turned to yelling, Words that linger long after they’re said. If I had to choose, I’d take the cable cord again— The crack against my skin, At least then, the pain was real, Tangible. This mental war is different, A game I never learned to play. The bruises fade, But your words carve wounds I can’t heal. Mom, I miss home. But I wonder— Did I ever really have one?