this house is clean but it is not my home
rating: +10+x

this bed is made nicely.
the sheets have been
carefully tucked under
the corners of the
mattress, there are no
wrinkles in the blanket,
the pillows are perfectly
square with no stains,
but it is not mine.

i have not cried
into this bed
while worrying
about college
and doctor visits
and fascism,
i have not held
my boy in this bed
while whispering
i-love-yous to him,
i have not made plans
in this bed about
how i'll go to college
and be a famous writer
and die alone in a

the stars are not hidden
by the lights of people here,
but i cannot lay in a clearing
and admire them with my boy.
the cool ocean breeze makes
the palm trees gently sway,
but i do not feel embraced
when i breathe it in.
the people here laugh
at my jokes about hating sunscreen,
but they will never see
the loneliness in my eyes at night.

we are here
to get away,
but from what?

i will make a home
that i will never
want to run from.

a home where i can
return after a long
day at school or work
or the doctor's office
and breathe in the
crisp air outside and
cuddle with my cat
in front of the tv and
sip on a glass of cold
tea and listen to an
old chet baker record
and curl up with my
boy at night and think
to myself yes i am home
yes the world is beautiful
yes i am no longer afraid
to die yes

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