A house may not be a home
In my living room sofa i feel uneasy
like everything is covered in wet paint
anything i touch i will ruin
so I pull myself in, taking up as little space as my body will allow
sweaty palms grasping to one another
i feel like a clumsy middle school boyfriend
the first time over to a girl's house

A house may not be a home
My family eats together at the dinner table
they ask me scripted questions,
for which i have canned answers
How was school-Fine
homework tonight-yes
any plans this week-no
My mother talks at my father
rehearsing the married couple skit
I have no further lines
I take to my cue to exit

My bedroom acts as a haven,
a place where i allow myself to take up space
without fear of getting in another persons way
but i can still hear my name
woven in my parents' argument
I can't hear what they're saying
though their strained voices reach me
tucked away upstairs, right next to the attic
which holds broken toys and things we don't want to look at anymore


A house may not be a home
my mother accused me of being hopped up on script drugs
questioned why I was "acting so bubbly"
I stopped and tried to remember
the last time these walls heard my laugh
my mother overheard me talking
about how i had a liking for a girl
I remember the purse her wine stained lips
and how she didn't look at her daughter

when a house is not a home
some try to place their home into others
like an indie pop ballad
some summer anthem paired with stolen beers
but we forget
humans have hands that hit
and feet that run
gnashing teeth
all encased in soft summer skin
we forget
these tenuous connections were never meant
to hold you upright
like marionette strings
you need not to have your heart dragged across the country
when a lover leaves with no goodbye kiss


I am my own mother, my own lover
I will hollow out my ribcage
in these bones i will create a haven
i will use the sticks and stones to build a nest
i will be my home
a place where I can finally live