Home

 

home is built

upon wood

and cracked

hearts with

doors slamming

like gunshots

and the dining room

tables has been split

 

home is a funeral

in my chest

that i have learned

to bury myself under

the anger, the sadness

and the silence in hopes

that someone will realize

i have been buried alive

all of this time 

 

i have learned the word

home is not the same

as the feeling

when you actually feel

home you

don't have to walk on

thin ice, you don't have

to feel like hiding

when you feel home

you make sure to

memorize even the parts

you hate because

you know you will miss it

when you leave.

 

home is not a person

because people do not

stay

and if you leave

your heart in them

then you will never

get it back

 

i want to feel home somewhere

with people that

love me

that actually feels like i 

belong

the people who are still

lost will eventually

find their way 

home and i will too

i will too

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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