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Pulse Apr 3
i miss the days when i was little
i miss thinking i had a home
home is safety and love and i miss that
i miss thinking i had something safe, something loving
ignorance is bliss until it swallows you whole.
because i never had a home.
i had a trap,
one that covered all its sharp edges and malicious nature,
with honeyed words and sugared actions.
one that hurt me and tore me down
while in the same breath giving me just a big enough shred of love to keep me pliant and obedient.
to keep me blind.
to make me become my own destruction

this is a poem of hiraeth my dear,
it is an acknowledgement of something i miss and something i want and something i have never had.

this is a poem of longing for a place that i can call my home,
a home where i need not worry for my safety,
where i need not be scarred.

maybe one day—
for now, the hiraeth settles into my bones and keeps its grip on my heart
in a house that is not a home,
and an empty feeling in my soul
hiraeth:  A homesickness for a home you can't return to, or that never was.
neptune Mar 22
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.
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
Sidney Chelle Jan 29
today is almost offensively mild.

the bathroom is sunny and marbled. tiny rivulets run over my hands. the faucet's water isn't cold, and i'm still not used to that.

once dried, i adjust my hair and face in the mirror, fingers brushing against my eyebrows, cheeks.

suddenly, it all comes together, twist-tie threads into one large knot, and my head snaps back. i am not a high school student anymore.

how can this be? i am loose and fluid-looking. when did that spring unwind?

(you know the one. the one in your spine, taut and uncomfortable. you can feel it the most during junior year nights that are not quite stressful enough to remember.)

suddenly the flight and the big boxes and the absence of parents is not just a fun little aside it is loud and bright and i am alone in california and the maturity of it hurts to look at-

inhaleinhaleinhaleinhale 3,000 miles and i am alone in this room oh god oh christ-

i try smiling. it is like that pamphlet on a table in an admissions office. it is like projecting when you speak and projects worth 30% of my grade, fluency and professionalism and pounding bass. oh ****, dorothy, we sure aren't in kansas anymore.

no more electric scents before a summer storm. no more nose-nipping winds. even the gray days look like cousins of those in boston, not twins.

no more chickadees.

how do i tell everyone that the air smells different here?
just typed this one out a little. very open to feedback, it's more a collection of ideas than anything.
Emilia Jan 24
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 *******
William Marr Nov 2018
pulled yourself up by the roots

then violently shook off

the clinging dirt

you who like to travel

let yourself go wandering

and find yourself again and again

in an unaccustomed climate

grasping your hand

I can feel the roots

that crave sunlight and water

climb up my arms

and cling to my heart

******* greedily

the remnant water droplets

from our moist homeland soil
Lhb Oct 2018
I keep losing things that I never had.
I feel homesick in places that feel a lot like home.
I find light in the dark spaces between stars.
The moon is screaming back all the secrets I howled.
I swear that at this moment everything feels like nothing.
And no matter how hard I pinch myself, it still feels nothing like reality.
Marg Balvaloza Aug 2018
Mga matang pilit na ipipikit /
maalala at maramdaman lang
ang masayang pinagsamahan.

Mga matang pilit na ipipikit, ‘di sa kadahilanang sobrang sakit,
kundi sa kadahilanang
ito na lang ang tanging paraan
upang mabalikan
ang masayang
  n a k a r a a n.

At some point., being that girl with hyperthymesia makes everything a little too hard when moving forward.
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