some say home is where the heart is
to mean that
there is an immutable place
magnetically manipulating
and tearing out my heart
keeping it lashed lasciviously
to that cold concrete
and steaming thunderstorms
that warmed my childhood face
and wet my bare feet
running wild

i don't miss my home
though i balk at the definition
of a part of myself that
is irrevocably tangled up with
that place where i burned
and razed myself to the ground
leaving only shimmering coals
abandoned in a lost forest of pain

my heart has no connection to that place

except perhaps the inescapable
the dripping bloodlust for
my own destruction
flames licking my ankles
as i threw gasoline on the blaze

that place was the incarnation of my loneliness

the weighted blanket
wrapped around my shoulders
me
a beast of burden expected
to carry the anvil of my anxious thoughts
whose fiery white heat kept me up nights
Atlas supporting the earth on his back

that place was the Sisyphaen interminable task

why would my heart attach itself to that pain

i don't believe home is a place
a warmth of welcome upon
my return into its
loving arms that cradled my childhood
those arms are not my comfort
they are the blades that
shredded me to ribbons
left me bleeding on the ground
until i limped away
and swore i'd never return

my home must be just as much
of a vagabond as my
meandering soul
and yet the refuge in the storm
that i can run to when
the demons come knocking
to abduct me and
leave my corporeal vessel
with glazed eyes
an empty shell

i've tethered my heart to you
intertwined those secret places
into the great hall of your heart
trembling with the unavoidable fear
of opening those chained doors
and making that ephemeral place
exposed
vulnerable
establishing a connection with
my wandering emotion
seeking the warmth of
a crackling fire on the
brick hearth radiating the heat of
my trust in you
my might-be love that
crashes into the barrier of my teeth
racing up my throat like
the bulimic ***** i used to spew
into toilets along with
my shame

no
for me
home is wherever you are
if you carry in yours the hearts of those who love you.

To poetry
guarding chickens
and chronicling crisis in Cleveland

To poetry
fighting back sleep
in a factory of miscarried dreams

To poetry
fighting for justice
with hashtags and cameraphones

To poetry in caves
gathering people like fire

To poetry in Halls
gathering children like home

To poetry
that is loud and activating,

To poetry
that is quiet and contemplative,

To poetry
that is honest and brutal

To poetry
that is tongue in cheek

To poetry,
in all shapes, colors, sizes
forms and meters

To poetry,
and to all of us
who are full of it

Nowadays I know
That I still exist
Even when you don't say goodnight.

Dear God
Please give me the simplicity of four little letters
Carved like a love song onto my wrists
Can you see me trying and falling?
How many times can you break
Into skin so sunken that even
My own mother doesn't know
Where it breaks and
Where it bends

Good God I am here
Begging to a being
I cant convince myself to believe in
Like hopeful letters
The words fall flat
I am not who I am.