I haunted the ground in search of
warm, beautiful things,
in search of home.
But the hardest lesson I’ve learned
is that not every room feels warm
and not every person feels like home does.
My bedroom walls lined with wishful thinking;
pillows stuffed with moondust
in hopes that I fall deep into dream,
but my body wasn’t my home;
Not until I found that warm, beautiful thing
would I dare fall asleep.
But then came you.
You made me want to sleep again.
My limbs beg to hold you like a prayer,
to carve out a piece of my chest
and make a home for you right there.
Let me garden you. I’ll work all year for one rare bloom—
I’ll keep watch from the balcony
perched on your head because
you feel like home.
For your arms have reconstructed my wings,
lowered me into the well empty
and brought me up full.
Even if this warmth proves temporary,
one golden hour in a year full of rain,
Forever my heart will carry a piece of you,
your name a refrain at the end of every line
in every poem of mine.
I can promise,
That when you’re long gone,
at peace and moved on,
I’ll sing your silly songs and
every warm room will bring me back to you.
Apr 2
Apr 2, 2026 at 10:29 AM UTC
I haunted the ground in search of
warm, beautiful things,
in search of home.
But the hardest lesson I’ve learned
is that not every room feels warm
and not every person feels like home does.
My bedroom walls lined with wishful thinking;
pillows stuffed with moondust
in hopes that I fall deep into dream,
but my body wasn’t my home;
Not until I found that warm, beautiful thing
would I dare fall asleep.
But then came you.
You made me want to sleep again.
My limbs beg to hold you like a prayer,
to carve out a piece of my chest
and make a home for you right there.
Let me garden you. I’ll work all year for one rare bloom—
I’ll keep watch from the balcony
perched on your head because
you feel like home.
For your arms have reconstructed my wings,
lowered me into the well empty
and brought me up full.
Even if this warmth proves temporary,
one golden hour in a year full of rain,
Forever my heart will carry a piece of you,
your name a refrain at the end of every line
in every poem of mine.
I can promise,
That when you’re long gone,
at peace and moved on,
I’ll sing your silly songs and
every warm room will bring me back to you.
