Last night, I heard the cats fighting,
raising their voices like they were singing
the crescendo of Shoot To Thrill by ACDC,
their voices scratchy
as the band’s lead singer—
and when I woke in the morning,
the next room had cat fur and shed claws,
holding true to their heavy metal nature,
they trashed the place
like only a band could.

My seat is cold and rusty,
My clothes are old and *****
But I feel them beside me
And that don’t matter anymore.

I look around me,
I stop,
I breath,
I smile.

Though it’s not a casual one,
It’s the one I’ve never felt before.
The one that truly says: I’m me;
The one that has no pain.

I taste the food,
I watch the telly,
I talk to them
And they with me.

It’s a thing I’ve never had.
A thing big and united
And happy
And real.

My heart beats faster,
My eyes tear up
Yet not of sorrow
But of something else.

Something I’ve been chasing,
Something I’ve been seeing all around,
Something I’ve been jealous of.
Something which is…

Home?

we come from the stars
that's what we were all taught
we're made of the same atoms

and what if i give color to these words?

we're not only former stars
we are also the sea, the paper ship, and the boat
we're following all the patterns
in the kaleidoscope of the world

but what if in us, as humans,
the content remains
and what changes is only the form

i am not afraid of dying
because when i die, i will finally come home

I've had life broke me piece by piece, I've had life watched me bleed and cry, I've had life pricked and casts me to my knees, fading away like ashes traveling with the wind. How do you come to love this Lazarus of a person, how do you appear, liking the darkness within.

You're my soul comforter, your eyes have became my pathway to survival, your therapeutic voice gives rhythm to my chaos, your existence is beauty, giving testaments of its wonders. My room with you, is life in its entirety, even on days when it so difficult to love myself, you've loved me, you've make living life worth it.

Mending and putting this patches together, you made me whole again, when I tell you, "you're my sanity", I'm not joking, when I say to you, "you're my life line", it is not poetry. Healer of my wounds, I don't doubt the words that I say to you, your embrace is home, you're my whole.

You say I pulled away.
You're right.
But before I left,
I withered beneath the weight of your storm.

I didn’t mean to become the silence
you dreaded waking up to.
But every slammed door,
every name spat like venom,
taught me how to become invisible.

You think I planned it —
as if my tattoos were eulogies for us,
my piercings an escape route.
No.
They were armor.
Each needle a promise to myself
that I still existed
underneath the noise.

I loved you.
God, I did.
When we laughed,
it felt like we’d invented language.
When we touched,
I thought the world forgave us.

But I was bleeding
while trying to bandage your rage.
And in the quiet after your anger,
I started to disappear.

I wasn’t waiting to leave —
I was hoping you’d notice I was drowning.
But you were too busy
trying to prove you were already underwater.

And I know my hands weren’t clean.
I bit back,
with sarcasm, with silence,
with withdrawal.
We hurt each other
because we didn’t know
how not to.

You were my home.
But I couldn’t survive the fires
you kept lighting inside the walls.

So I left.
And I still ache —
because I wanted us to grow,
not burn.

When your home is away from home
Your brain feels like the rolling storms overhead. Consuming the night with a crackling roar.
The lightning only briefly ignites the black void that surrounds you.
Every fleeting memory comes with every flash, every strike. There in an instant, gone in the next.
You think you need to find “light in the dark” and your left with this profound feeling
This awe, wonder, a small sense of joy in this void you stand in.
But you remember that lightning is rare at home
You remember how you felt at home
How it felt the same as seeing a bolt of lightning.

You remember when you experienced your first thunderstorm with the one you call home.
You remember that your home would have loved to see this.

You walk dazed and dissociated for miles mulling over the past, your mistakes, your health. You drag on mourning your love.
You ridicule and loath yourself. Thoughts slowly frying in the blistering Midwest heat.

Then days come where there's an overcast.
A cool drizzle.
A comfortable sixty-degree day.
You see fog in the distance, and you can smell moisture in the air.
You stare at a pine tree longer than socially acceptable, knowing it's the closest reminder you have to feeling your roots. Knowing there's a whole rainforest beckoning for you to come back.

You sit at a lake and hear the Puget sound screaming your name. You can almost feel the sand beneath your feet. The waves against your skin. You can see the view vivid and longing in your mind. The sunsets, the mountains, the water, the smell of nature all around.
But then you remember your favorite spots. The countless memories with lovers and friends.
You remember all the conversations, the thrill fueled parties and adventures. You remember her. The hobbies, the quirks, the fun. The passion. The love. You remember she shared the same connection.

You stare at the Rockys and see their beauty. Their grandeur, their vastness.
But the peaks and slopes don't compare
They don't live up to Rainier.
They don't live up to the subtle shades of grey and blue, the snow caps, or the rolling green hills. You want to appreciate it…
But you know the last time you looked at those mountains, who you had brought home.

You miss the lights, the energy, the spirit of your city. The variety of your people. You miss the bars, and venues, and restaurants, the extravagant outings. You miss knowing all the spots, you miss riding the train. You miss the city life. You miss the partying, the dancing, the drugs. You miss her.

But you also miss the city life…
The one that took you down. Took you home.
And you know at this home you have family, but that family can't help you. That family can't love you the same.
You watch the toll you take; the tears swell in their eyes over the person they think you've become,
and you feel ashamed cause you know it's the person you always were.
You're reminded of all your childhood trauma and are thrown into the same environment you spent years escaping.
You feel lost.
Because you are.
Because your home away from home
is no longer a home.

my mother hates me
my father blames me for my mothers hatred. please

they think they can hide it but I am no longer twelve years old
wondering why
my mother doesn't look up at me when I talk to her
no, I'm no longer twelve years old
wondering why
i am yelled at a double or triple or quadruple rate
of my older sister
I'm no longer a naive twelve year old
thinking my parents kept the poems i wrote for them

when i couldn't find them? you ask
well of course the wind picked them up gently like a mother
to her child (exceptions, of course)
and carried them to a better home
someone will love my art
if not you, there are desperados yearning
for a poem that is love in the purest form

i no longer have the pure love of a twelve year old
i see cracks on the wall that is my mother and father
some are my fault
they don't see mine, i filled them in with plaster
they are almost all from my parents
don't get me wrong, everything is emotional
my parents don't hurt my physical self
they think of themselves too positively for that

i am no longer a twelve year old grateful that my situation wasn't worse
if i am honest, at a young age i believed myself to
be in the greatest home in the world
a place of pure love and compassion
a family that cares more than God
i am still grateful but,
the eyes of sixteen don't see it the same way

Home is a roof
like a hat under heaven
as a shelter for dreams
that drift in the night

Home is belonging,
tune in and becoming
is to land on your feet
and stand in the light

Home is the heartbeat
that echoes the silence
home is the soft wind
caressing your face

Home is the love that
you give one another
turning your shed into
the world’s dearest place

Sleep has left my weary eyes,
Like a soul that softly cries,
Searching for a land so far,
Past the seas, beyond the star.



I think of where I used to play,
Long for its soil every day,
For people’s smiles I used to know,
But my homeland feels so far to go.


The sun and moon will find their way,
To meet at dawn, then fade away,
But I can only touch that land,
In dreams that slip like grains of sand.