I don't know the best way to say this

the thing about people is that we are all our own galaxies and we tend to fall in love with the constellations that feel most like home.
but every backyard garden I plant always seems to die before it blooms

an old rocking chair in a stuffing yellow attic is what I use to call home
I can still remember the lullabies and the bunnies on the wall
home left me the day fire lined the walls
swallowing the bunnies and trapping me whole
I couldn't get out
I couldn't get out
my bed was the ocean
and I was the tsunami
swallowing your home
and I swallowed that fear
and now the ghosts whisper my name
as they pull the juniper berries off their bush and lay them under your pillow
this is so you will have believed that you were the one to **** sleep
you'll dream of holding a knife dripping with sand
and you'll never feel home again