The ones who accepts you for who you are no matter what

The ones who'll travel through all of time and space just to save you

The ones who'd do anything for you to be in their life

The ones who would do anything to see you smile

The ones who stayed up all night worrying cause they care about you

Their the ones who's family whether or not of it being a chosen one or by blood

Cause That's What Love Is

On the floorboards
In the kitchen
One evening in the fall
Is where it all began to go wrong

As I stood there washing dishes
Beside me, he droned on
Each word, he nailed into me
Punctured deep into my skin
So forever and always
They would be lodged within

Water kept on flowing
From the facet
Drip, drip, drip
It wasn't until later
That the tears began to slip

A stranger came by after
Say hello, I did not do
And with that decision
More words were told anew

This time it was the father
Nailing words into my skin
Disrespectful, ungrateful
Might be packing up real soon

And so came the nights
Restless, tossing, turning
Scrolling through
Nearby homeless shelters
In case I got the boot

And even as the days passed by
And the days turned into months
I could never repair
The broken shards of my trust

So, even though I still live here
It will never be my home
When I still have to do dishes
In the room
Where it all began to go wrong

Mother knows best,

but I've put
this ink
on my skin as
a reminder
that I am
not the
child who
died in that
House.
I was forced
to build a
place where
I belong,
and now that
I've Finally
created a place...

you want me back.

But I am
not the
child who
died in that
house.
I am a
woman
now,

Mother.

Dear Dad,
I no longer
Have to sit
Silently as
The words
You say spit
at me like fire.

- It still burns

The first place you call yourself-
a monster
where you admit 
that you- are a liar
Home is
where you learn becoming human 
Tethered inside stitched up skin 
you have enough emotions to- 
spill out 
But home is-
wanting for many things and getting none of them 
Half-feral and doing everything to not bite the hands that feed
You fold and fold and fold
until you are smaller- 
until you are not even really there at all 


- Home is where you go to disappear

Best places aren't those
That visited the most,
But those that keep you close
To loved ones, dreams and hopes

Crushed thyme & rosemary
The mountain of spuds fresh peeled
Leave sapped arms aching
Granny still fussing over
All dinner's little just so's

I have been told I look like my mother
in the way we laugh at the same jokes
and show love through our eyes,
emotions never quite being able to hide
and I always take these comments in
with so much admiration and pride,
yet when my mother says she hates how she looks
I begin to think that is a reflection of me.
If we are the same
does she not point these poisonous thoughts
at my chest too?
Bulls-eye patterned loathing
that strikes in the same place twice,
and I am left to wonder whether
her self-hatred is not just for one
but for two.