I step into my childhood room
a long held breath, of which i was unaware, escapes my lips
i've only been home a few hours,
was drawn by my loved ones away from this place
this place that is so sacred to me
so missing in my life
its clutter of luxury
its clutter of history
the things and memories that built my character
the things i once found important enough to keep
nooks and crannies, drawers and geometry
closed space, owned space, locked space
full of secrets long declared irrelevant
personal achievements tacked to the walls
ribbons, creations on surfaces
interests displayed, magazine cutouts
all these things echo
Along with these, foreign artifacts, added by mistake
what seems the piece of another
entering my chapter
but isn't the heart of my kin my heart?
aren't the closets down the hall
bearing my signature as well?
how unknown can these additions be,
introduced in my presence or my absence?
we see our blood most clearly away from the vein