When I get home,
no one will ask me, sweetly and genuinely,
“How was work today?”
I won’t tell anyone that it was rough,
I won’t cry into anyone’s chest.
No one will wrap their arms around me
and sing to scare my demons away.
No one will lay beside me,
As I drift off to sleep on the couch.
No one will tell me they love me,
no one will steal kisses on my forehead, long after I’ve started dreaming.
No one will make my house feel like home - and I don’t know if I can build a home without you.

When I get home,
no one will ask me, with alcohol soaked breath,
“Who else are you *******?”
I won’t have to argue,
I won’t shake and cower with fear.
No one will make me feel selfish
and say that I’m a ****** person.
No one will refuse to lay down beside me,
because it’s “all I ever do”.
No one will tell me I’m useless, lazy, and dumb,
no one will steal my free will, and drain every bit of energy from my body.
No one will make my house feel like a jail cell -
and I’ll have to build a new home within myself.