I’m almost never in the position to
let the curiosity and memories control me
But when I am,
it takes everything I have not to drive by
for my own contentment
just to see.
My tired body has moved on
but my mind is still upstairs and straight-down-the-hall
cutting pictures out of magazines
splicing them together in pages of notebooks
and aching for what I have today.

Things sound different now.
Fire trucks and shouting neighbors
kids playing on front lawns.
I don’t walk out of my back door
to my own personal jungle,
I don’t hold my breath to feel the stillness
and let the hushed air envelop me.
I’m not careless and flying on the seat of my swing set
that my parents tore down while I was away at college.
But I can still step outside and feel the same heat
and I can still feel the same weight on my chest
and the birds go on chirping like before.

When I get home,
no one will ask me, sweetly and genuinely,
“How was work today?”
I won’t tell anyone that it was rough,
I won’t cry into anyone’s chest.
No one will wrap their arms around me
and sing to scare my demons away.
No one will lay beside me,
As I drift off to sleep on the couch.
No one will tell me they love me,
no one will steal kisses on my forehead, long after I’ve started dreaming.
No one will make my house feel like home - and I don’t know if I can build a home without you.

When I get home,
no one will ask me, with alcohol soaked breath,
“Who else are you *******?”
I won’t have to argue,
I won’t shake and cower with fear.
No one will make me feel selfish
and say that I’m a ****** person.
No one will refuse to lay down beside me,
because it’s “all I ever do”.
No one will tell me I’m useless, lazy, and dumb,
no one will steal my free will, and drain every bit of energy from my body.
No one will make my house feel like a jail cell -
and I’ll have to build a new home within myself.