Country Roads, Dusty Towns

I.
Shifting skies paint my journey,
as I carry the me I’ve become.
Budapest, oh refuge of light,
tattoos your lessons into my skin—
wisdom etched deep, surrender tendered,
a new self rising, full of life.

But the roads turn dusty,
and the smoky windows of home
consume the tissue of my being.
The me I thought I’d carry back
is buried beneath the sorrowful weight,
dust smothering, airless.
Inside me, I am buried again.

II.
Sweet home, bitter walls,
where every stone has found me,
every wound still heals, still weeps.
A mother who never chose me.
A sister, favorite in her shadow.
A brother, his cries laced in poison.
No corner spared—
each breath a test of endurance.

Yet I learn again to survive,
for living belongs to Budapest.
Here, in all-year-winter-town,
I crawl to the surface,
stitch myself together with hope.
Goodbye to the me who couldn't stay whole.

III.
Budapest—Kay’s arms,
a borrowed peace,
his better house in town.
Yet cracks of betrayal whisper louder now.
Five years marked in shadows,
love fractured but familiar.
I switch my code, detach my soul,
find my peace in the spaces between.

Even as I know:
these roads will lead me back,
the cycle will return,
dust will cling to me again.

IV.
But this time,
hope is louder.
This time, I carry the dream:
a house that is mine,
walls free from echoes of hurt,
a life where survival steps aside
to let living take the stage.

Country roads, you know what to do—
take me back, for now.
But one day,
lead me to where
I’ll never have to return.