FOR THE FIRST TIME, THE PAST IS PAST/
Today, I visited my old home,
after much hesitation and temptations.
I've been there twice before,
stolen glances at m̶y̶ home
both times I came back crying
to my mom at the place
we live in now,
I refuse to call it home
because I swear every single
morning I've woken up in this place
I've been longing to feel how I felt
waking up in my old home;
how I've felt for 14 years.
But today was different:
I looked at m̶y̶ home
with eyes wide open
Yes, there were flashbacks
of standing in front if the pink wall
and my black brown wardrobe
for photographs before dinners;
of the living room walls and
the little white pretty chandelier
hanging at the top;
of blue LED lights on the
cieling of my bedroom,
the warmth of my bed;
of the smell of my parent's room
and the bookshelf in the balcony;
of the sound of the bell
and the key hanger beside the TV;
Of the shelves in the living room
where my mom stocked all my trophies;
Of the sofas where my sister and I
laid doon to have foot fights;
Of the swing on my front porch
where I first heard 1989
and huge window on the forst floor
where I solved math problems every night;
the list never ends;
All the cruel bitter flashbacks
that could've been tender sunlit memories
if they didn't have to sell my home
for the ****** hospital bills.

Today was different
because I didn't let the past
overwhelm my emotions
Instead
I smiled and stared at the paint
over my father's name plate.
A part of me will always reside
in m̶y̶ old home
but I refuse to let it haunt me anymore.
-j.s