Making a Home of You

I have lived a lot of different places,

most of which were not lumber and drywall boxes.

I have slept curled,

in calcium caverns encasing the base drum of people’s pulses.

We built our kingdom, on the slanted face of tectonic incisors,

bruised greenery the only welcome mat we ever needed.

But  you can’t sleep outside once summer gets blown away,

trying to stop autumn felt like uprooting ossified red woods with nothing but my chipped child’s claws;



and impossible.

Fall is all about learning to let go,

we took lessons,

from the same trees we left our footprints on;

it is uncomfortable,

we will feel naked

but it is necessary,

so let it happen.

Trying to keep ourselves inside our summer skin will only hurt us.

Our limbs were not made to stay confined inside the shape of the people used to be,

Our epidermis is bursting,




We are in pieces,

but tell me, when haven’t we been?

We are always shattered,
always missing one piece or another,

we are always scattered,

between the places and people we have lived in

between the moments we have loved,

and we have loved not,

we litter them with petals,

plucked from our own limbs,

maybe they’ll lead us back home someday

but as long as you hold my hand,
home will not be something I am capable of losing,

despite my absent-minded tendencies.

I have lived a lot of places,

most of them never had walls,

just skin.


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