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Nicole Feb 14
We did not leave
yet novelty stood out
As if we were strangers in this place
A certain loneliness bloomed
And silence grew from it

We did not leave
yet vacancies filled in
and it's suffocating
We became a village
of foreign gazes and nostalgia



I wanna go home
Can we go home?
daphne Nov 2020
fever burning in my mind
Which road leads me home?
i lost something I can not find
and forgot which way I came from

the crowded streets bleed out at night
and the rains cleans the mess in the morning
A wool is tied around my eyes
And the devil is singing his word of warning

on every other corner lives a fallen god
In others, are the monsters
Painting with blood on the ***** facade
Images of dread and wonder

a nightmare, laughters, faces in smoke
When I awoke my house was on fire
from under my bed, they laugh as I choke
And lay in place my funeral pyre

I got on that train because I thought I could leave
For a second, I lingered in the doorway
but escaping past tenses has ways to deceive
and I numbed out the signals of warning

The fever has burned a hole in my mind
And blurred out the vision of home
What is lost has been lost and I can not find
The direction that I came from
Quill Oct 2020
Oh how silly for a heart to yearn for a home that doesnt exist

For a chest to ache with the sickness that one only gets when they've traveled too far

For a soul to feel as though it were born in the wrong universe

For hands to tingle with idle magic at their fingertips

Until it overflows, onto a page, into a song, over pillows and sheets as tears cascade and stain and drown

Oh how tragic for Hiraeth to take hold
Hiraeth: a Welsh word for homesickness or nostalgia, an earnest longing or desire, or a sense of regret. The feeling of longing for a home that never was. A deep and irrational bond felt with a time, era, place or person
Zywa Oct 2020
Wander herb, full moon:

we are homesick in autumn –


in many places.
“Time is hard” (AD 799, Bai Juyi)

Collection "Em Brace"
Liz Rossi Mar 2020
i took the morning train today.
hushed city streets and
sweater-grey skies,
clouds like milk in coffee.
a flurry of wings, silent strangers,
heads down, umbrellas up,
sunshine dreams and briefcases.

i took the morning train today.
left the city behind me,
grey walls and grey pavement
and grey concrete skies.
red buses, black taxis,
camera clicks and glinting lenses,
crumbling walls and lost tourists.

i took the morning train today.
watched as the city fell away
behind the horizon,
rain drumming on the glass.
somewhere, birdsong
and the glint of blue skies
beckons me home.
fray narte Mar 2020
My heart is a shrivel of miagos bushes,
uprooted, shoved, chucked in new soil;
the leaves between my lips,
now, in an unhealthy shade of chartreuse.

Regardless, I have taught myself
to shear them into tiny leaf crumbs,
making trails —
marking the houses, the buildings,
the roads of this foreign city,
safekeeping directions
into a catalog of things that aren't home.

My feet are weary and somehow,
they manage to find their way
back in this cold, oppressive room.
And yet, how does one sleep under the glare of these walls?
How does one revive a dying garden
in a city that only knows
the language of tires as they kiss the pavements,
in a city that only knows
the walis tingting's weary sweeping
of these crumbs of miagos leaves —
the ones leading back home?

Yes,

I can teach my tongue and all its browning, dying leaves
to remember these new ways of growth,
these new words, new schedules,
new routes, new streets.

Alas, even the waters, even the sun
can't teach it to love the language it doesn't speak.
neptune Mar 2019
Hiraeth - A welsh word that means homesickness for a home that never was.
I wonder what home did he,
Who made this word, mean or
What you think when you read it.
Was he thinking about a person?
I like to think he was.
But then again,
As the word rolls around my mouth,
You cross my mind.
Muneeb Ur Rehman Feb 2019
late at night
laying on bed
staring the ceiling
as the cigarette's ash falls down
tear rolls down from the eyes
making me fall apart
with the feeling of
homesickness
Emilia Jan 2019
I love this filthy city with all of my ****** heart.

The sweltering summer streets (the buildings themselves sweat),
Where the 'cool' breeze is still thirty-four degrees,
And you can't walk a metre without needing an icy drink,
The sewage smell permeates through the pavement.

The bitterly cold winters that numb your lips (slur your words for you--drunken in love with her),
Frozen lakes and frosted branches in Regent's park,
I love her icy kiss more than I love myself--more than I have ever loved anything.

But I must leave, you need to know.

I can't stay, I'm sorry,
It will **** me.

She has her hands around my neck,
She strangles me with her embrace,
As she tells me--softly--how softly she loves me.

London, I'm sorry.

I was not built for the built environment,
My heart belongs in muddy fields under skies full of fresh air and clean sunsets,
I yearn for the sensation of dirt and leaves under bare feet.

How cruel,
To fall in love with a place where you don't belong.
not 2 b edgy but we had a trip into the city centre and on the way home i realised how much im gonna miss this place when i go to uni, london is a lesbian
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