i remember when i was young
and would connect the freckles
on my mother's leg like it was
a game in one of those silly children's books.
thing's aren't like that anymore...

"why must everything change?"

i'm just a withered flower dying to
know what it's like to finally feel alive.
i want to be home.
my yearn for a placeholder.
this town swallows me whole, willingly.
shocked or overwhelmed.
i bustle underneath my bed only to find childhood memories,
but emerge to something more wishful.
home is but a variable.

i'm left to choose.