With the memory of sweet honey comb in mouth and the sting of nettles on my fingertips,
I am coming home to myself.
It is easy to forget where my heart lies;
silencing it when it calls out from my chest or giving it over to someone with careless hands.
I was once a child whose heart spoke in a language only I and nature could understand
so I sit here, struggling to remember my native tongue;
my hands still stinging, my teeth still stained with the sweetness
and a heart that is saying "welcome home"