Is love and support,
Comfort and warmth.
It’s my family,
my father’s reassuring smile,
my brother's laughter.
It’s the sacrifices they’ve made on my behalf.
It’s the smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies,
the blend of bittersweet chocolate and salty caramel
melting on my tongue.
It’s a crimson rose dipped into the sunset
and on to a canvas
It’s the fall leaves in brilliant shades of gold and brown,
Families coming together for thanksgiving.
Sitting around the dinner table,
Sharing stories, laughing.
It’s being reassured that there are no monsters in my closet
It’s the freedom in isolation,
seeking solace in the solitary.

But home isn’t home.

Home is the darkness I let my mind wander to when I’m alone.
It’s realizing that there was never a monster in my closet,
the real monster was the one tucking me in.
It’s the fear of disappointment,
the need for perfection.
It’s autumn, when everything begins to die,
when the leaves turn black and crumple to the ground.  
Is the deafening silence surrounding the table.
Family dinner treated like an unnecessary formality,
to keep this semblance of normalcy.
It’s roses, thorns digging into my palm,
surrounding an empty casket with my hopes and dreams.  
Home is impossible expectations and economic instability,
It’s drowning in a shallow pool of hopelessness and guilt.