I keep seeing your name on billboards
in towns you have never been.
A magician touched my bones
and flowers grew out of my hands,
i get high,
i have new friends
things are different.
there are flowers in my hands again.
if you get close they will die.
I haven't been touched in so long.
i fear if i do,
my flowers will wilt,
i do not want that to happen again.
i no longer confine myself to lonely basements
in the suburban town I grew up in.
i explore different parts of my state,
love a city most in my town will never venture to,
Those places hold a home,
one I thought I'd never find here
I hold a boys clammy hand
In fountain square
He is so excited about the world
Only a year younger than me
but so less experienced
I tell him he can find a home wherever he goes,
But do not search for it somebody else's body.
invite them to stay,
and if they like it well enough
They can settle there with you
and if they get tired of it.
remember it's your home.
when i say that
he just holds my hand tighter.
can you invite me to stay, he says.
stay in my home if you'd like,
I say,
but if the ghosts bother you,
you can leave whenever you choose.
I will not blame you ,
Sometimes they make it hard for me to sleep.
but we can hide from them for a while
In the tall buildings and the museums
Pick a record. We can spin it all night long.
don’t mind the ghost of the girl with the brown hair,
if you read her one of my poems she’ll go away,
when she comes back just read the lines i wrote about you
over and over again.
She wants me to settle in her body,
but i remember the advice i told you,
so i won’t.
we can start up my car instead,
and go to a random town and make it our home for a day.
we will be complete strangers to it both,
we will find the parts we love, and the parts we can do without-
but we return to our home.
he begins to know my home better.
like it’s his own
he knows where i keep my favorite books, where my paints are hidden, and my random folder of memories.
he reads the old poems, and sees himself in the past me.
my advice makes more sense now.
and he appreciates my words more.
i’m afraid he’ll make a home in me.
when our knees touch on the couch
we're both intoxicated with smiles
and the worry doesn't sit in our minds
we don't have to worry about the toxins when we're with eachother.
the ghosts are unseen.
It's easier with you.
your nose doesn't scrunch when I laugh,
you love more than my body,
and understand why I've read slaughterhouse five six times.
I start reading it you
before you go to bed,
six becomes seven.
I read more to you-
there are poems you don't understand
But you think they're beautiful anyways.
no matter how many metaphors i make about the sea
you don’t call them cliche.
i am not afraid to speak around you.
it all comes easy now.
i think it’s because we’re both home around each other,
building homes in places we’ve never been,
the dark haired ghost still lingers,
i told you even when i was in a place
i could call home,
i never felt that way around her,
you are not my home
i say
but
you make home a whole lot better to be in,
you are healthy,
you handle my ghosts well.
and i look at you,
laying on the couch
while a movie plays in the background,
still- there’s a home here,
and it does not involve me becoming your whole world
or vice versa.
it involves
two people,
who like being around each other,
no matter where they call home,
and being able to realize,
that it’s okay to leave sometimes when the ghosts won’t let you sleep.
and if i miss the movie you’re watching that is fine,
i can watch it later and then we can chat about it in the dining room.
with warm coffee, and cold feet.
this is home for now.
The sunlight pours in and hits our faces
it makes admitting it easier.
I hold your hand tight for the rest of the day.
you make home a more beautiful place to be.
