It took me a while to understand that home isn’t always
A cottage,
A mansion,
Or a condo.
Sometimes home isn’t really a place at all
And, in fact,
Can be in somebody’s eyes,
In their heart,
In their veins.
I made home like no other
When I invited myself into your soul.
I saw the dark history
Of ****** messes you’ve made,
Every drunken mistake.
I saw beer bottles shattered
Left stranded on the floor
As you slept on the couch.
Tell me,
All about how she left you,
How you stitched your skin for her,
So she wouldn’t be so ashamed of you.
Tell me
About the time she kissed you,
And she tasted like honeysuckle
But she didn’t stay
And there was no “I love you, too.”
Tell me
About how the first woman you loved solved you,
But left with some of the puzzle pieces.
You said you wouldn’t find another girl like her again.
Tell me
About lonely nights with slutty girls,
Trying to get by with only an empty heart,
And broken promises.
Tell me, tell everyone,
About the pain you can not fix,
About the heart that couldn’t break.
I saw
The way your voice trembled at my touch,
The way your hands shook
When you heard “I love you too,”
From a girl who really meant it.
I saw
The way you struggled for so long,
Trying to find home in between bed sheets
But the way you realized that home could be with me.
Tell me
About how the blood was removed,
About how the pieces were picked up.
About how the puzzle was solved,
What peppermint tastes like instead,
About the warm bed you like to sleep in.
Tell me
About healed wounds and cheap perfume I like.
Tell me
About home,
And how it feels like me.
