I see my past spread out like a map;

each arrow leading me back to a home
that has turned to ashes

back to my body, which disgusts me
each bone, each hair, each inch of skin

I want to tear the ******* route apart,
in the hopes that I may plot a new one

one where I may be free
from the histories that stick

like gum, to the soles of my shoes,
with each step I take

freedom is a fraught war
that I am too tired to win

and once again, I find my feet
leading me back to the ash house,
back to the broken bones
of loathing